


Nevertheless, She Persisted

by nightingaelic



Series: The Alpha & The Omega [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3, Fallout 4
Genre: Action, Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Detectives, Elections, Eventual Romance, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Government, Leadership, Massachusetts, Mother-Son Relationship, Multi, Mystery, Oral Sex, Politics, Post-Apocalypse, Psychological Trauma, Romance, Sex, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Tenderness, Touch-Starved, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-05-10 02:58:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 61,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14728665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightingaelic/pseuds/nightingaelic
Summary: Sole Survivor Murphy struggles to come to grips with what she's done to save the Commonwealth. Meanwhile, Diamond City needs a new mayor, the Brotherhood is pressuring her to commit, and the Institute may not be as dead as everyone thinks.





	1. To What I've Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Murphy blows up a perfectly good mass reactor.

There was a flash of bright light, and Murphy felt wind buffeting the side of her left leg. She looked down and saw exposed cloth and skin through the frame of her power armor.

_Dammit,_ she thought, _I took more damage in the assault than I thought._

She hit the armor release latch on her suit and climbed out, wincing as bloody fabric peeled away from the steel frame. It was then that she began to take stock of her surroundings: A cluttered rooftop high above the city, wind rushing through the abandoned barrels and crates strewn about the rusty balcony. A battered sliding door barely clinging to its track confirmed her suspicions, displaying the logo “Mass Fusion.”

Murphy sat down on a nearby crate to assess her leg, but was startled back into combat readiness by a brilliant blue flash right in front of her. MacCready stumbled out of the light beam, gasping for air and immediately aiming his sniper rifle at Murphy’s face.

“Godda- er- sorry,” he said, realizing his mistake and lowering his gun. “And I thought taking a spin in a vertibird was bad.”

“It’s got a bit of a kick,” Murphy agreed, lowering her twin plasma guns in kind. She began rummaging around in her bag for a stray stimpak, and MacCready joined her on the crate.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“Mass Fusion executive suite,” Murphy said with a groan as she injected the stimpak’s contents into her thigh. “I came here once with Hancock, couple months ago.”

“Yeah?” MacCready said, stretching his arms out in front of him as if surprised he was still alive. “I thought this place was a nest for the Gunners.”

“It used to be,” Murphy replied, tossing the empty stimpak back into her knapsack. “Between me, Goodneighbor’s most esteemed mayor and a couple bottles of rum, we managed to clear it out in an afternoon.”

MacCready’s jaw dropped. “Where did you find rum?!”

Before Murphy could answer, a few more flashes of blue light deposited Preston Garvey and some members of the Minutemen on the rooftop with them. Murphy stood and managed a weak salute to the ragged bunch.

“General,” Preston said, tipping his hat and striding forward confidently. “It appears we’ve won.”

“Yeah, looks that way,” Murphy said flatly. MacCready smirked.

“Sturges figured this was a safe distance outside the blast radius,” Preston said, shouldering his laser musket. He gestured with his head to the western end of the roof. “Whenever you want to see ‘humanity’s best hope for the future’ go up in smoke, just hit that button.”

Murphy glanced where Preston was indicating and spotted the detonator, perched in plain view on a metal crate. Its bright red and yellow buttons stood out like a child’s plaything in its stark surroundings, and Murphy’s heart jumped into her throat at the thought.

Some shadow of her inner turmoil must have crossed her face, because MacCready put a hand on her shoulder. Preston took another step forward in concern.

“You okay, General?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Murphy said with a hard swallow. “Yeah, let’s just… let’s… I’ll…”

She shook MacCready’s hand off and slowly walked to the detonator. Carefully, she flipped three silver switches and turned the power dial to “ON.” Two lights blinked red, and a red plastic cover flipped open with a beep to reveal a green button.

“Did everyone make it out okay?” Murphy asked, her hand hovering over the contraption.

“Yes,” Preston said. “Sturges sent us last, just before he got himself out.”

Murphy held her breath and pressed the button.

The world stilled, and the sky filled with an eerie light. Murphy saw the shock wave roll across the city before it hit the skyscraper they were standing on. Violent shudders rocked the building supports, and 200 years of dust shook loose from the remains of Boston in one terrible moment.

And in an instant, the city stilled again, and the hanging dust clouds were dwarfed by the pillar of smoke and flame rising over the crater that used to be the Commonwealth Institute of Technology.

“It’s the end of the world all over again,” Murphy whispered to herself.

“Holy shit,” Preston muttered behind her. “That was one hell of a bang, wasn’t it?”

Murphy picked up the detonator and handed it to him. “Better get this back to Sturges,” she said. “Never know when he’ll need it for another explosion.”

“So that’s it,” Preston said quietly, accepting the now-quiet piece of tech. “The Institute is destroyed.”

“Yes.”

“It’s… finally over.”

“Yes.”

Preston looked Murphy over carefully. “You did issue the evacuation order, right? I didn’t notice in all the chaos.”

Murphy shrugged. “Yeah,” she said. “We gave everyone a chance to get out.”

“Good,” Preston said, nodding. “I thought so. It was just…” he trailed off.

“I know,” Murphy said.

Preston walked to the edge of the roof and looked out over the city. “They left us no choice. It was war.”

Murphy turned away from the railing and the settling dust. “War never changes,” she said.

MacCready’s eyes widened at her comment, but Preston didn’t seem to notice.

“But now the war against the Institute is over,” he went on. “The way’s now clear for the Commonwealth to finally come together and build something good for the future.”

Murphy let herself slide to the floor, leaning back against a shipping crate. “I don’t know about that,” she opined. “The Railroad and the Brotherhood may have a few disagreements left to iron out.”

Preston chuckled. “I didn’t say it was going to be all sunshine and rainbows from here on out,” he said. “I just don’t want to downplay what we’ve accomplished here today.”

He gestured to the column of smoke in the distance. “They kept the Commonwealth divided for centuries.”

Murphy craned her neck around and peered through the bars of the railing to see the Charles River rushing in to fill the crater that had swallowed the old CIT Rotunda. The water mingled with the raging fires and sent up white clouds of steam to join the black smoke and dust.

“There are plenty of other problems left to deal with,” Preston added. “I don’t think the Minutemen are going to be out of a job for a long time yet, as much as I might wish it.”

Murphy sighed. “I know,” she said. “And I’ll be there with you to help solve them. But not today.”

Preston smiled. “Not today,” he agreed. He turned and gestured to the handful of Minutemen that were milling about the rooftop. They fell into a line and headed inside the executive suite, ready to ride the service elevator back to the ground.

Just before he ducked inside, Preston turned back to Murphy and MacCready. “When you’re ready, I’ll be at the Castle, spreading the good news.”

Murphy waited until she heard the doors close on the elevator and the rusty cables creak into motion. She slid around until she was facing the blast crater in the west, and dangled her legs through the railing in the open air.

“Welp, that closes the book on the Institute,” MacCready said, joining Murphy on the floor. “I can’t believe you actually did it. Looks like I picked the right traveling partner to hang around with.”

“Sure,” Murphy said. “The kind of partner who drags you into a firefight underground with no room for a sniper to actually practice his skills.”

MacCready chuckled. “After what you’ve done for me, it was the least I could do,” he said. He gestured at the far-off crater. “What you’ve done for all of us, really.”

Murphy pulled a bottle of Nuka-Cola from her pack and unscrewed the top. “To what I’ve done,” she said, and took a swig before handing it to MacCready.

“To what you’ve done,” he agreed, and took a sip before pouring out a splash over the edge of the building. “And to what you shouldn’t have had to do.”


	2. Vault Dweller Girlfriend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Murphy and MacCready swap parenting stories.

Murphy closed her eyes and leaned over onto MacCready’s shoulder. They sat there like that for a while, sharing the Nuka-Cola in silence.

“That thing you said, about war,” MacCready asked after a few minutes. “That was Nate, wasn’t it?”

Murphy nodded, keeping her eyes closed. “He came back from the war saying that. He said it every time the news on TV was particularly awful. He even worked it into his speech he was going to give at the Concord Veterans Hall on the day…”

She trailed off into silence again, and MacCready put an arm around her. Murphy turned her face into his duster and cried, as silently as her anguish would allow.

When her shaking slowed and her hiccups began, MacCready undid the scarf around his neck and handed it to her. “I know it’s not fair,” he said quietly.

Murphy sniffled and dried her tears on the worn piece of teal fabric. “Life’s never fair,” she said. “I just thought it would be different.”

She finished the bottle of Nuka-Cola with one last swig, then tossed it into the void. It fell slowly, gleaming in the sun until it shattered distantly against the worn pavement below.

“Thank you,” she said, nudging MacCready with her elbow. “For what it’s worth, you were my first pick of my merry band of misfits to bring along when Preston decided it was time to take on the Institute.”

“That so?” MacCready stretched his legs out over the edge of the high rise. “Well, I knew I was the best shot of the bunch by far, but I’m still honored, boss.”

“It wasn’t just that,” Murphy said, unsticking several strands of her silver-white hair from her face. “I know any one of them would have come if I’d asked, but you’re the only one who’s a parent.”

MacCready nodded. “I know.” He pulled out a faded pack of cigarettes, extracted one and offered it to Murphy. She accepted it gingerly, and he lit it before lighting one for himself. The two blew smoke into the air, their outlined breaths joining the dissipating clouds of dust and steam below.

“Do you want to talk about it?” MacCready asked after what felt like a small lifetime.

Murphy thought for a minute.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I just killed my own son. I just blew up the world he helped build, ended years of scientific advancement and fear and, just, buckets of fucked-up confusion, and I’m going to be celebrated for it.”

She gave him a sad smile. “It’s a little hard to process. Even if shrinks were still a thing, now, I doubt one could actually help me.”

“Believe me, they’re still a thing,” MacCready said, tipping some ash over the railing. “Just fewer and farther between.”

“Yeah? Where’s the closest one?”

“We had one in Little Lamplight. Sort of. Lucy.”

Murphy glanced at him. “Your wife?”

“No, no- different Lucy,” MacCready said, tossing his cigarette butt into the air. “She was the regular doc too, but she fancied herself a bit of a head expert on the side. Used to meet with the younger kids who had just moved in, make sure they were adjusting to living in a cave.”

Murphy smiled. “No medical degree, I take it.”

“Nah,” MacCready said with a smirk. “Not that we cared. She was good at patching us up and mixing chems. She even saved my life once, when a tunnel caved in on me and I broke a passel of bones.”

“That’s what you get for living in a cave,” Murphy said, chuckling.

“Hey, I didn’t just live in a cave, I was cave _mayor_ ,” MacCready corrected.

“Right, right, sorry Mr. _Mayor_.” Murphy crushed her cigarette butt against the rusted metal floor and swept it over the edge. “What happened to her?”

MacCready shrugged. “I’m not sure,” he said. “She was a year younger than me. I turned 16 and left for Big Town, found out it was a pile of sh- crap- and then I set out to wander the Capital Wasteland on my own. Never went back.”

He scratched his scruffy goatee. “She was kind of my first girlfriend, too.”

Murphy smiled. “I guess you have a pretty specific type.”

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

“Anyway,” Murphy said. “Even if she was still in the business of psychology, the commute nowadays from Boston to D.C. is terrible. Or so I hear.”

“You got that right,” said MacCready. “Took a full three days by caravan and boat to get that medicine we found back to Duncan. One way.”

“No kidding?” Murphy straightened up. “You mean you heard back? It got there safely?”

MacCready nodded. “Daisy let me know, last time I blew through Goodneighbor. She said the caravan made it to Canterbury Commons okay, handed it straight to the Pacion family with my letter.”

He pulled a folded piece of paper from the inner pocket of his duster and smoothed it out carefully.

“R.J.,” he read. “Received your package. Duncan’s boils receded and scabbed over a few hours after half-dose. Fever died down after a few days. The kid is just as chatty as you are again, keeps asking when you’ll come to visit. Wants to meet your vault dweller girlfriend. Shoot straight: Derek and Machete.”

Murphy laughed. “What’s it say on the bottom?” she asked.

MacCready turned the letter to show her a crude doodle of a boy waving next to a house and what looked like a Mister Gutsy robot. Next to it were the initials “D.R.M.”

“Oh, Bobby,” Murphy said, her eyes once again filling with tears. “You did it. He’s gonna be okay.”

MacCready put the letter away and put his arm back around her. “I had help,” he said. “From a certain vault dweller girlfriend.”

Murphy laughed through the mist in her eyes and shrugged his arm away. “Stop it,” she said. “You’re like my little brother, weirdo.”

“Little brother?” MacCready scoffed. “You’re old enough to be my grandmother.”

“Try great-great-great-great grandmother,” said Murphy. “I’m 215 years older than you. And for the record, I look great for my age.”

MacCready laughed. “You got that right,” he said. “Don’t let it go to your head any more than it already has.”

Murphy giggled, but her feelings dampened again as she looked out over the field of devastation she had left in her wake. The fire in the CIT crater was mostly out, but here and there a rusted-out automobile on the shores of the Charles burned freely, throwing strange shadows against the buildings and overpasses. The sky was beginning to darken, and the sun sank low over the quiet scene.

“Bobby,” she said quietly into the wind. “What would you have done?”

MacCready tilted his hat back and scratched his head. “I don’t know for sure, but I have an idea,” he replied.

“Please.”

“I would have run,” he said, bowing his head. “I’ve done it before, after all.”

Murphy shook her head. “You ran because you had to,” she said. “You ran to find work to support your wife, your son: You ran to find a cure.”

“No, Murphy, I ran for far more selfish reasons,” MacCready countered. “I ran to avoid telling Lucy who I really was. I ran to escape the guilt I felt for being unable to save her, and I ran from my own son who looks just like her because I couldn’t tell him the truth either. I ran from him when he needed me most.”

“If you hadn’t run, you wouldn’t have found me,” Murphy said. “You wouldn’t have found Med-Tek’s cure for his disease.”

“Sure, maybe running worked out, but that doesn’t mean it was the right thing to do.” MacCready sighed. “If I’d found out my own son was the monster under the bed for all of the Commonwealth, if I’d looked him in the face and realized that I’d indirectly created the person responsible for so much of the underlying fear in this part of the world - the synths, the kidnappings, the massacres - would I have doused the kid in oil and lit a match?”

He shot Murphy a look full of secondhand remorse. “No,” he said. “Not even then. Not after what I promised Lucy.”

Murphy nodded. “You see why I’m struggling then,” she said. “I didn’t make Nate any promises when we had Shaun. I didn’t need to. At least, we didn’t think we needed to.”

She sighed. “We took things like that for granted then. There was so much of the world we were so careful to appreciate after the war opened our eyes, but neither of us could have imagined that the unspoken promises we had for each other should have been put to words.”

She awkwardly bent her arm back to shove the metal crate behind her out of the way and laid down on the floor to stare at the sky. “I failed as a mother,” she said. “Spectacularly.”

“Maybe,” MacCready said, lying back to join her. “Or maybe you never really got the chance to be one. Not like Vault-Tec or the Institute gave you the choice- it’s hard to be the nurturing type when you’re a block of ice.”

Murphy closed her eyes and kicked her feet in the open air a few times. The wind on the roof was picking up, slowly drying out the periwinkle-blue Vault suit she was wearing. She hadn’t wanted to wear the old thing, but Preston had insisted and given her a speech about being a “symbol for the troops to rally around.”

The worn fabric of the suit had been stained and patched in so many places it was hard to tell whether the cut on her leg was new or not. The stimpak had done its trick, she noticed: Her leg was almost as good as new again, albeit a bit crusty with dried blood.

“Catch a stray laser blast?” MacCready asked, noticing her hand idly rubbing her thigh.

“Yeah,” she replied. “Someone triggered a frag mine in the tunnels and it blew off the shin panel. The power armor took the brunt of the damage, but it opened me up to fire and a synth tried to take advantage of the hole.”

“I hope you popped its head off with your bare hands,” MacCready said, yawning.

“Something like that,” Murphy murmured. The stars were starting to wink out of the deepening purple expanse above them. She twisted a strand of her hair around her fingers and realized with disgust that it had speckles of green plasma goo stuck in it.

“How long did you want to stay up here?” MacCready asked.

“Got somewhere you need to be?”

He laughed. “Nah,” he said. “Just figured I should pay Hancock a visit if he’s got rum hidden away somewhere. The old ghoul’s been holding out on me.”

Murphy giggled. “I don’t know how much is left,” she admitted. “I was badly in need of a bender and that was all the encouragement he needed to break out the top shelf.”

“Well, he does have a thing for you,” MacCready said.

“He does not!”

“Ask him sometime.”

“Fine, I will.” Murphy sat up and pulled herself away from the edge, her knees wobbly in the sudden movement. “Come on, Goodneighbor’s just down the street. We’ll go see if he’s got some rum left.”

MacCready stood up and dusted himself off. “After tonight, probably not,” he said, casting a glance at the newly-formed crater on the horizon.


	3. Nuclear Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which sunglasses are worn at night.

Murphy and MacCready could hear carousing as soon as they turned down the little alley which led to the Old State House and the town of Goodneighbor. Murphy strode up to the non-descript metal door in the wall made of corrugated roof panels and knocked three times, careful not to punch the door in with her power armor fist. The neon “GOODNEIGHBOR” sign above her blinked off and on a few times before a panel in the door slid back and a pair of black eyes set in a scarred, leathery face regarded her.

“Who goes there?” a gruff voice asked.

Murphy popped off her power armor helmet and tucked it under her arm. “The lady of the hour,” she said, shaking her hair out over her shoulders.

MacCready waved at the neighborhood watchman from behind Murphy’s imposing frame. “And the life of the party,” he added. Murphy chuckled.

The black eyes crinkled into a smile and disappeared. After some clunks and squeaks, the door opened, and the ghoul watchman beckoned them inside with his submachine gun.

“Boss said you might come by,” he said. “Figured you weren’t the type to celebrate with the assholes in Diamond City.”

Murphy scanned the courtyard with interest. Neither KL-E-0 or Daisy appeared to be at their storefronts, but their neon signs blinked resolutely in the growing dark. All over the square were clumps of people, talking and laughing and sharing what looked like cigars and beers. Music was drifting around the corner of the Old State House, and Murphy recognized it as a rendition of Ella Fitzgerald’s “Always True to You.”

“I guess you heard the news,” she said.

“The whole world did, doll,” the watchman said. “You’re a goddamn hero.”

Murphy bobbed her head in a noncommittal way and made her way over to KL-E-0’s alcove. She parked her suit in the power armor station and emerged, rubbing her left leg.

“You ever get itchy after you use a stimpak?” she asked MacCready as she slid her pack over her shoulder.

Before he could answer, a voice floated through the window. “Aw, Murphy, if you had an itch to scratch, all you needed to do was ask.”

Murphy whirled around and found herself staring into a familiar pair of sunglasses. “Deacon,” she said with a grin.

“Hey there, Death Bunny,” he said. “Long time, no see.”

“Well, I’ve been busy,” she said coyly.

“Heh, I’ll say. By the way, you wouldn’t happen to know where I left that big underground research lab of mine? I’m always losing the damn thing.”

Murphy laughed and swung around the door frame to pull Deacon into a hug. “I may have dropped it in the Charles,” she said. “Is it just you in town tonight?”

“Nope, Glory’s around here somewhere,” Deacon said, adjusting his cap after they pulled apart again. “Des put me in charge of renting out rooms at the Rexford to get ready for an influx of synths, and Glory’s supposed to run interference.”

He looked her up and down, taking in the new bumps and scrapes. “How about you?” he asked. “Looking for someone to warm a bench with you?”

MacCready angrily cleared his throat. Deacon jumped in mock surprise, as if noticing the mercenary for the first time. “I’ll be damned,” he said. “I thought that was a statue.”

“I thought spies were supposed to be perceptive,” MacCready said. “Maybe if you took off your sunglasses at night.”

Deacon grinned. “Still killing people for caps, MacCready?”

“I don’t know,” MacCready shot back. “You still pretending to be anyone but yourself?”

“Boys,” Murphy interjected. “Don’t fight on my birthday.”

Deacon furrowed his brow. “I forget when your birthday is, but I’m about 95.6 percent sure it’s not today,” he said. “Not that I know what today is, either.”

Murphy rolled her eyes. “Let’s go find Glory,” she said, and pushed her way past Deacon into the alley, headed toward the music. The song had changed to a slower tune, and Murphy could make out the dulcet tones of Magnolia’s voice floating out of the Third Rail.

As the three rounded the corner, they came upon a scene that was strangely familiar to Murphy. Someone had strung holiday lights between the Old State House balcony and the neighboring building and artfully wrapped them around the two scraggly trees left standing in the street, which lit the scene below in a hazy, colorful glow.

Across the cracked concrete, couples were slow-dancing. A few were silently holding each other, rotating in place, while more whispered into each other’s ears and laughed softly at the sweet nothings as they drifted around the dance floor. Others sat close to each other on the two benches in the street, holding hands and watching the dancers. Even a few of the neighborhood watchmen had put down their guns and were chatting up some of the ladies who were sitting the dance out.

Magnolia’s voice floated out of the Third Rail, echoing against the subway station tiles into the night air.

 

_“Everybody finds somebody someplace,_

_There’s no telling where love may appear,_

_Something in my heart keeps saying_

_My someplace is here.”_

 

“Déjà vu,” Murphy said under her breath.

“Sorry?” Deacon said.

“Oh, nothing,” Murphy said. “Well- I’ve seen this before.”

“Can’t say I’ve seen a party like this since they purified the water in the Capital Wasteland,” MacCready said softly. He turned to her. “When?”

“January 10, 2077,” Murphy said.

Deacon screwed up his face in thought. “I’m a little hazy on my world history, Cryo Queen.”

“The day America liberated Alaska,” Murphy replied. “The day the war was supposed to end.”

She looked down and shuffled her feet. “It was super cold out,” she said, trying her best to remember the details of that day. “Nate and I were watching the evening news, getting all excited about the victory up north and the Chinese retreat. I had a ferocious chocolate craving, so he got up to make us some cocoa, and I was at the window watching the snowfall. Everyone still had their Christmas decorations up, and I guess Mr. and Mrs. Able wanted to celebrate the news. They were out in the cold, dancing in the street.”

Murphy smiled at the memory. “Nate and I went out to join them, and then the Whitfields came out, and the Sumners, and then Louis Rosa threw a snowball at Mr. Whitfield and it just turned into a big snowball fight.”

“God, I wish it still snowed,” Deacon said. “Every time you talk about it, it sounds like a blast.”

Murphy shook her head and pushed forward toward the entrance of the Third Rail. “I, for one, am glad I slept through the nuclear winter,” she said. “Nuclear summer has always been more to my taste.”


	4. Love A Duck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the gang attends the party of the century.

Murphy, MacCready and Deacon made their way into the Third Rail somewhat slowly to avoid stepping on the toes of the Goodneighbor residents who were doing their best to completely fill the renovated subway station. Ham the bouncer was mysteriously absent from the entrance, so the three hugged the wall to make their way down the stairs unannounced.

Murphy rounded the corner just as Magnolia wrapped up her Frank Sinatra song. Elegant as ever in her red gown, the singer tenderly wrapped her fingers around the microphone stand to address the packed club.

“Goodneighbor, you have given us the warmest welcome that any girl could ask for tonight,” she said. “I know we’re all here to party until the sun rises, but I just want to thank my accompaniment for the evening- it’s been so long since I got to sing live with some excellent musicians.”

Murphy noticed with some surprise that the town had managed to pull together a band for the occasion. Three neighborhood watchmen, all ghouls, were on trumpet, bass and guitar; Ham the bouncer was adjusting the reed on what looked like a brand-new saxophone; and the assaultron shopkeep KL-E-0 was idly tapping a snare rim on a very battered drum set. KL-E-0 appeared to have decked herself out for the occasion and was wrapped up in several blinking strings of holiday lights.

The crowd enthusiastically cheered for Magnolia and her backup, and Murphy spotted Whitechapel Charlie at the bar, looking like he was nearly buried under customers. She grabbed MacCready’s sleeve and pulled him through the crowd toward the far end of the counter. Deacon trailed behind.

“Oh, thank you, folks,” Magnolia said in her sultry voice. “Now let’s speed things back up again.”

The band immediately launched into “Runaround Sue.” Murphy smiled and dodged around a group of dancing drifters, who greeted her arrival with cheers.

“Charlie!” she yelled over the music and happy chatter. The robot bartender perked up and glided over to her end.

“What’s all this then?” he said with an exasperated arm twirl. “Can’t you see I’m busy with this lot?”

“I’m sorry, Charlie,” Murphy said, playfully unholstering one of her plasma pistols. “I’ll just start clearing people out then, shall I?”

Whitechapel Charlie laughed. “Lor’ love a duck, I’ve missed you, Murphy. Know what I mean?”

He pulled up three glasses from below the bar and polished a spot off of one. “What’ll it be?” he asked. “On the house, all o’ ya.”

“Whiskey,” Murphy said.

Deacon leaned over her shoulder. “The usual, Charlie.”

“Whatever bottle of Gwinnett you’ve got left,” said MacCready on her right.

Whitechapel Charlie whizzed around and put together a glass of whiskey, a bottle of Gwinnett Pale and what looked like a mix of Nuka-Cherry and something more sinister, garnished with a mutfruit slice. The three took their drinks and headed for the quieter VIP room in the back.

Murphy downed her drink as she walked through the door and was immediately swept into a hug by a tall, dark and handsome woman with white hair.

“Hey, Charmer,” said Glory when she finally let Murphy go. “I see you still haven’t dyed your hair, little dandelion.”

Murphy smiled. “People seem to like when they can pick me out of a crowd,” she said. “Besides, Deacon usually carries enough costumes to outfit a theatre troupe.”

Deacon shrugged. “I like to be prepared,” he said. “Where’s our host?”

Glory stepped aside to reveal Mayor Hancock splayed out on one of the red couches, examining his own hand in the warm light of the lanterns. “Tricky,” the ghoul mumbled.

“What’s his deal?” MacCready asked.

Glory rolled her eyes. “He’s coming down from a hit of Ultrajet. He should snap out of it in a bit, the son-of-a-bitch’s tolerance level is pretty damn high. Anyone else would’ve been out for the whole weekend.”

Deacon strolled over and rolled Hancock back to sit down on the couch, then carefully replaced the mayor’s head on his lap. He swapped his cap for Hancock’s tricorn and grinned.

“How long do you think it’ll be before he notices?” he joked. “Place your bets now. Four-to-one he falls off the couch, seven-to-two he punches me in the face.”

“I’ll bet it all on your black eye,” MacCready said, sitting down in a vacant chair. “He doesn’t take kindly to his hat being stolen.”

“How would you know?” Murphy asked, chuckling.

“I can’t tell you _all_ of my secrets, boss.”

“Uggggggh,” Hancock groaned from Deacon’s lap. “What’s going on?”

“Hey Hancock,” MacCready said with a grin. “How’s the coolest ghoul in the Commonwealth?”

“MacCready? That you?” Hancock coughed. “Christ, don’t tell me you’re still using this room as your personal office.”

“Nah, I promise I’m gainfully employed,” MacCready replied.

“Good.” Hancock peered up at Deacon, who was doing his best to act casual. “Well, if it isn’t my least favorite spy novel character. Please tell me I didn’t pass out in some sort of compromising situation with _you._ ”

“Nope, you’re just close to my crotch for the atmosphere,” Deacon replied. Glory and Murphy snorted, and Hancock sat up as fast as he could.

“Give me back my goddamn hat,” he said with a snarl, tossing Deacon’s cap in the air and sticking it with the knife hidden in his boot.

“Oh come on, why,” Deacon groaned. “I just paid a fortune for that at Fallon’s Basement last week, Becky said it used to belong to Dean Domino.”

Murphy laughed. “She swindled you, Deacon,” she said. “Domino’s thing was sunglasses and bowties, not hats.”

“Dammit,” Deacon said, and tossed Hancock his hat back. Hancock jammed it on his head and took stock of who was all in the room, smiling widely when he caught sight of Murphy.

“Well, if it isn’t the vault dweller herself,” he said. “The Commonwealth owes you a huge debt, sunshine.”

“Honestly, I’d just settle for a bath,” Murphy said. “I feel disgusting.”

Hancock grinned. “That can be arranged,” he said. “But we’ve gotta say something to the crowd. They’re all here partying ‘cuz of you, you know.”

“Hancock, no,” Murphy protested, but the ghoul strode toward the bar room and grabbed her arm along the way, dragging her back out into the fray.

Magnolia saw the pair join the crowd, and hastily wrapped up her song. Hancock pulled Murphy over by the stage area, where he picked her up and gently set her down on top of the bar. Whitechapel Charlie made some sounds of annoyance and swept some dirty glasses out of their way as Hancock climbed up next to her to stand on the bar.

“People of Goodneighbor!” Hancock shouted, throwing his arms out in welcome. “Who here has had a loved one suddenly go missing in the middle of the night, never to be seen again?”

Several drifters and residents in the crowd gave a shout or raised their hands.

“Who here has spent their whole lives worrying about whether or not someone is lurking in the dark, waiting to jump out when you least expect it and kidnap you?”

The whole crowd responded, nodding in approval and clapping. “You tell it, Hancock!” MacCready yelled from the back. Murphy spotted him, flanked by Deacon and Glory who were nodding in approval.

“And who here saw the explosion at CIT that lit up the fucking Commonwealth this afternoon?!” Hancock roared. The crowd exploded in cheers.

“Alright, settle down, settle down,” Hancock said. “Seriously, folks, I’m as happy as a mirelurk in a mud bath today, and I promise that’s not just the Day Tripper talking. Thanks to the Minutemen and their fearless general, we can all sleep a little safer tonight and from here on out.”

He paused to snag a shot glass of whiskey from the counter next to him and raised it into the air.

“That’s right, Goodneighbor, the nightmare is over! The Institute is gone, and it ain’t coming back! Not as long as I’m mayor, not as long as we freaks stick together, and not as long as this woman-” he said, yanking Murphy up to stand next to him, “- has anything to say about it!”

Embarrassed, Murphy turned beet-red and gave the crowd a small wave. They cheered wildly in approval, and someone started to chant the mayor’s name- “Hancock, Hancock, Hancock!”

Hancock shook his head and turned the chant around. “Murphy, Murphy, Murphy!” The crowd followed suit, and Murphy spotted Glory pumping her fist in the air along with the beat.

Amid the cheer, Hancock pulled Murphy in close to murmur in her ear. “I mean it,” he said. “All of us in this town, we’re indebted to you. Now how about that bath?”


	5. A Clean Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Murphy entertains an unexpected visitor.

Hancock led Murphy’s little crew upstairs into the fresh air again. The town square dancers had dissipated somewhat, and stars twinkled in the sky above the little street that made up Goodneighbor.

“Well Death Bunny, we should probably take our leave of you,” Deacon said. He stepped forward and hugged her tightly. “On behalf of the entire Railroad, we’re super stoked about this whole Institute destruction thing.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hancock said, taking advantage of the pause to light up a cigarette. “Maybe you can stop cluttering up my town with all of your Railroad cargo, for once in your life.”

Glory winked at him. “Just as soon as we go threaten Marowski into letting us store some cargo in his hotel for a bit,” she said. “Doctor Amari is going to have her hands full for a while.”

Hancock threw an arm up in the air in an exasperated gesture. “Be my guest,” he said. “Just don’t piss him off enough to cut off my chem supply.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll still die young in a pile of Mentats,” Deacon said. He and Glory sauntered off toward the Hotel Rexford, and Murphy smirked at the pair of them sticking to the shadows. Clearly, neither had been operating in the open for a while.

“Murphy,” MacCready said, tapping her on the shoulder. “If you and Hancock are going to- erm- ‘take a bath,’ I think I’ll just take off for a little bit before I turn in for the night.”

Murphy rolled her eyes. “I never said he was taking a bath _with_ me.”

Hancock inhaled deeply from his cigarette. “Never say never, sunshine,” he said with a smooth grin.

“Whatever you say, boss,” MacCready said with a pointed look at Hancock. “Take care of yourself, will you? People tend to get stabbed in this town.”

Murphy gave him a reassuring hug, and MacCready headed off into the dark, making a beeline for the Memory Den in the old Scollay Square theatre.

Murphy sighed. “I bet he’s off to see Lucy again,” she said remorsefully.

“Wounds like that, they don’t heal easy,” Hancock said, turning toward the alley along the side of the Old State House. “Come on, leave him be. The man’s earned a few moments in the past.”

Murphy turned to follow him into the street, and the pair’s footsteps echoed softly in the dark. Hancock’s cigarette tip glowed brightly in the blackness. Silently, he ushered her into the Old State House and led her up the spiral staircase to his living room, where he turned on a standing lamp next to the door. The ancient bulb illuminated the sleeping body of Fahrenheit, who immediately rolled off the couch into a crouched attack position and trained a pair of 10mm pistols on the two intruders.

Hancock shook his head. “Jesus,” he said.

“Hi, Fahrenheit,” Murphy said with a smirk.

“Murphy,” Fahrenheit said, straightening up and holstering her guns. “Mayor,” she added, with a nod to Hancock. “I take it the evening proved entertaining.”

Hancock tossed his cigarette in a nearby bucket. “I take it yours didn’t.”

Fahrenheit shrugged. “I’m not much of a party person anyway.”

“Thanks for guarding the stash.”

“My pleasure,” Fahrenheit said. She regarded the two with curiosity. “Come to sample some goods?”

“Ah, I’m still not really a chems person,” Murphy said.

Fahrenheit gave her a thin smile. “I wasn’t talking about chems,” she replied.

Hancock laughed. “So you pick _now_ to develop a sense of humor, Fahrenheit? Hell, I should bring houseguests around more often.”

“Don’t stop doing your tours of the town on my account,” Fahrenheit said, raising her eyebrows. “I value my alone time.”

“And we value ours,” Hancock said, and collapsed on the couch. “Now shoo.”

“No, no- it’s fine,” Murphy said quickly. “I just came up to clean up. You can stay.”

Fahrenheit’s eyes narrowed as she looked back and forth between the two of them.

“I’m going to get a drink and check the front gate,” she said finally, and stalked out.

As soon as Hancock heard the front door slam shut, he sprang off the couch and offered his hand to Murphy in a stately manner.

“General,” he said. “I believe I owe you a clean start.”

Murphy laughed and gingerly took his hand. “You can’t give me that,” she said.

“Well maybe not,” Hancock admitted. “But I can at least give you a clean outfit and some soap and water.”

He twirled her into his arms in an impromptu dance maneuver, but just as quickly sprang apart with a look of realization.

“Hey, I have something for you,” he said, and turned to rummage around in his desk before extracting a small glass bottle with a blue label on it. He tossed it to her. Murphy caught it and peered at the faded print, then gasped.

“Blue Moon by Mary May?!” she exclaimed. “Hancock, where on earth did you get this? This was rare even _before_ the bombs fell.”

Hancock shrugged, clearly pleased with himself. “Trader a while back came through by way of Jamaica Plain. Said she had to hole up for a bit in the old Fallon’s Department Store, waiting for some supermutants to move on. Found herself smack dab in an aisle of mostly shattered toiletries, but grabbed what wasn’t broken and tried to unload it here. I thought it smelled nice, so I gave her 37 caps for it and waited for the right lady caller to gift it to.”

Murphy cautiously uncorked the bottle and took a sniff. The scented oils had long since separated from the soap, but it still smelled unmistakably like figs and orange blossoms. She closed it up again and gave it a vigorous shake.

“Good as new,” she said with a smile. “So where’s your tub?”

“Right this way,” Hancock said, and ushered her across the hall to his sleeping area. An enormous four-poster bed and nightstands took up half of the room, while the other half was home to several display cases, worn armchairs and a giant, claw-footed bathtub with a single pipe leading to a hole in the drywall behind it. Surrounding it were several end tables with hot plates and coffee pots, all of which Murphy was dismayed to find were plugged in.

“This can’t be safe,” she said.

Hancock scratched his head. “Well, indoor plumbing is in short supply around here. It’s a fast way to heat a lot of water.”

Murphy sighed and picked up the nearest coffee pot, which was already full. “I’ll monitor this mess if you run up some water from the pump,” she said. “I’m beat.”

“Right,” Hancock said, and disappeared down the stairs in a flash. Murphy began switching on the hot plates and plugged the tub drain, which fed into the wall pipe. She wondered idly if it ran all the way down to the building’s basement or if it just drained straight onto the street.

Hancock ran buckets up and down the stairs for a while, finally stopping when the tub was about a third full. “Normally I just get somebody else to do this,” he said, out of breath. “And I usually hand them a free bottle of Buffout.”

“Well aren’t you getting soft,” Murphy said, pouring steaming water out of coffee pot after coffee pot and stirring the water in the tub with her hand until it was a decent temperature. Slowly, she added a few dollops of the Blue Moon bubble bath and stirred, taking a small delight in the immediate appearance of scented bubbles on the water’s surface.

Hancock tossed her a towel from his dresser. “You want me to disappear?” he asked.

Murphy nodded. “If you don’t mind,” she said.

“Hey, no worries, kid. I’ll be downstairs making sure no one wanders in on you.” Hancock turned and straightened his coattails before disappearing down the staircase, humming what sounded like “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.”

Murphy sighed and took a minute to sit down in one of the armchairs, shucking off her boots and discarding them on the floor. She caught sight of an upright mirror over by Hancock’s bed, partially covered by a moth-eaten curtain.

 _He would,_ she thought to herself, but nevertheless she stood and went to pull the curtain off. The glass was cracked in two places and black tarnish was creeping in on the edges, but she could make herself out in it by the light of the bedside lamp.

Murphy regarded her reflection with mournful curiosity. Gone was the fresh-faced girl who’d gone to sock hops on the weekend to talk about the price of stockings and the Bugle’s latest article on the war. There was someone else in the mirror: A woman who had crawled out of a bunker 200 years too late to an irreversibly changed world, and had refused to accept that she no longer had a place in it.

She tucked her white hair- a souvenir from her time spent in cryogenic stasis- behind her ear, and began to undress. Slowly, she peeled off the faded vault suit with the gold “111” stamp on the back, and kicked loose where it had stuck to her bloody leg. She pulled her socks off and straightened up again for a better look at herself.

Murphy couldn’t believe she’d ever worried about losing weight once in her life- now it was all she could do to try to keep it on. The Commonwealth had mostly burned off her curves, though her arms still held some softness to them. Her legs had toughened considerably, showing off the muscles of a girl who spent most of her time trekking around the wastes or running from super mutants.

Little marks of silver lightning flickered across her hips and lower stomach, a reminder of the child birthed but never raised. Nate had loved them once, had urged her to be unashamed of her “battle scars,” but now they never saw the light of day.

Murphy had actual battle scars now, enough to have rivaled Nate’s. Aside from the recent laser scarring on her left leg, she sported a hefty burn on her right arm from a run-in with the lunatics in Saugus Ironworks. She turned to examine a twisted scar on her back, a souvenir from a deathclaw in the Glowing Sea. The wound had taken forever to heal thanks to the radiation exposure, and Murphy swore it gave off a faint glow sometimes.

She moved to add the rest of the heated water to the tub before unplugging all of the hot plates and unceremoniously dumping them all on a couch well away from the bathtub. After shimmying out of her bra and underwear, she put the towel within grabbing distance and lowered herself into the bubbles.

Murphy hissed a bit as the water and soap connected with the bumps and scrapes she’d sustained over the last day, but for the first time in what felt like forever, she felt her limbs and muscles relax. She sank deep into the water, soaking her hair and listening to the blood rush through her ears under the surface.

When she closed her eyes, she saw Nate leaning down over her, proffering a sea sponge.

 _Hey strawberry,_ he said.


	6. The Mini Nuke Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hancock trades clothes with Murphy.

Murphy opened her eyes. The room was empty. Tentatively, she closed them again, and saw only blackness.

“Nate?” she whispered. There was no response, save some soft creaks as the Old State House settled in its foundation.

Murphy sat up in the water and drew her legs up to her chest. She’d heard about things like this, hallucinations soldiers suffered when they returned from war. Suddenly transported back to the battlefield, the chaos and the smells and the lost friends overwhelmed the senses years after the initial trauma occurred. But she’d never heard about hallucinations involving domestic bliss.

Murphy frowned to herself. While she was almost certain Hancock was looking to turn this night into something more than just an end-of-the-Institute celebration, she didn’t know if it was good to be left with just her thoughts at the moment. Her mind floated back to MacCready and how he’d marched off earlier in search of the woman who was never coming back.

“Hancock? You there?” she yelled.

“You know it,” he yelled back from somewhere lower in the building.

“Could you come up here?”

Murphy heard boots hit the stairs with enthusiasm, and the ever-present tricorn hat and red frock coat ascended into view. Hancock took in her state of undress and covered his eyes with one scarred hand.

“What’s the problem, sunshine?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Murphy replied. “I just don’t think I want to be alone right now.”

“Say no more, sweetheart,” Hancock said, and theatrically tossed his hat on his bed before moving to unbuckle his boots.

Murphy laughed. “Sorry, Hancock, I didn’t mean…”

“I know, I know,” he said with a hearty laugh. “Here.”

He slid down to sit on the floor with his back to the tub, effectively back-to-back with Murphy. “What’s on your mind?” he asked.

Murphy scooped some bubbles into her hand and twisted around to gently set them on Hancock’s bald head. “The usual,” she replied.

His face sobered. “Nate?” he asked. Murphy nodded.

“Well, what’s a little savior complex without some guilt on top,” Hancock said. “It’s like the perfect cocktail.”

“That _is_ what got me to go into law school,” Murphy admitted.

Hancock chuckled. “Not much call for lawyers nowadays, but I’m sure your teachers would be proud of you if they could see you now.”

“Eh, I don’t know,” Murphy said, extending her left leg to scrub off her caked-on blood. “Back then, people who went into law were either looking to get as much money out of their clients as they could, or ladder climb into politics. Or both. I can’t say I’ve done either of those.”

“What are you talking about?” Hancock asked incredulously. “You’re basically at the top of the Commonwealth food chain. Leader of the Minutemen…”

“Which Preston basically handed to me after two run-ins with raiders and a deathclaw,” Murphy replied.

“Heavy unit designation for the Railroad…” Hancock went on, counting off on his fingers.

“Which means I’m basically a glorified mailman-slash-exterminator…”

“ _Paladin_ for the _Brotherhood of Steel_ …”

Murphy laughed. “Okay, that one I had to earn.”

“And no one even knows what you got up to in Far Harbor- well, except for Nick, and he’s not talking.”

“Let’s keep it that way,” Murphy muttered.

“And you’re practically the mayor for, what, seven settlements across the Commonwealth?” Hancock finished.

“Eight now,” Murphy corrected. “We got the Slog back up and running after Cait and I cleared out Saugus.”

“Oh great, I’ve been meaning to go pay those guys a visit sometime,” Hancock said. “Been a while since I had a drink with Holly and Deirdre.”

“I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you,” Murphy said, wringing the water out of her hair.

“Anyway, my point is, you studied the letter of the law so you could do some good, _and_ you wrestled every yao guai in your way to come out on top of this little patch of hell,” Hancock said. “You stuck to your convictions and you didn’t back down.”

He smiled. “Having someone who sees the world for what it is and is willing to do something about it, it’s meant a lot to me. I feel damn lucky to have you as a friend.”

Murphy decided to test MacCready’s theory. “Friends?”

Hancock chuckled. “Well, now that you mention it, I have been having slightly more impure thoughts than usual. Maybe we’ll get to… act on those. Heh.”

“For shame, mayor,” she replied, and stood up, grabbing the towel. “Cover your eyes.”

“You got it,” Hancock said, clapping a hand over his face again.

Murphy wrapped the towel around herself and tucked the corners tightly under her arms. Carefully, she stepped out onto the worn, wooden floor.

“Okay. You said you had clothes?”

Hancock peeked through his fingers to check before pushing himself up off the floor and strolling over to the dresser. He pulled out the bottom drawer, which was full of women’s clothing. Murphy was unsurprised to see that about a third of it appeared to be lingerie.

“Take your pick,” Hancock said proudly.

Murphy bent down and picked up a simple pair of panties, careful to touch as little surface area on them as possible. “Former conquests?” she asked, sarcastic.

Hancock feigned offense. “Ain’t nothing in this drawer that wasn’t left here willingly,” he said, puffing his chest out.

“I’m sure,” Murphy said, holding up a black bustier with pink, embroidered vines around the edges and a name scratched on the inside tag. “So Magnolia won’t be wanting this back, then? Looks expensive.”

Hancock snatched it away from her with a nervous laugh. “That one might have been left here by accident,” he admitted.

Murphy smirked and rummaged around a bit, coming away with a pair of red, high-waisted shorts sporting black buttons up the sides, an off-the-shoulder top in solid black, and a black-and-white, polka-dot bandeau. She opened her mouth to ask Hancock to give her some privacy again, but then closed it when a thought crossed her mind.

“Hancock,” she asked. “Am I too delicate?”

He looked confused. “What?”

She shook her head. “What I mean is, do people treat me like I’m delicate? Sometimes I feel like everyone acts like I’m about to explode, and they just want to get out of the way or do their best not to set me off.”

Hancock sat down on the bed next to his hat. “Is that how you think people treat you, or is that how you actually feel?”

“Both, I guess,” Murphy said sheepishly. She looked down at her bare toes, unsure why she’d asked.

“Well sunshine,” Hancock said. “Coming from the perspective of a guy who happens to be a fan of when you explode, I don’t think it’s something you need to worry about.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “You tend to explode at the right people. People get too comfortable, they start to assume they’re entitled to things or that they’re the biggest cat in the yard, and then you take them down a peg because they can’t see past the little vault dweller exterior to the mini nuke inside.”

Murphy snorted. “Mini nuke?”

“Sure.” Hancock grinned before lapsing back into a sober expression. “But if you’re asking about your friends, we don’t spend our lives tiptoeing around you, worried about an explosion. We know you’ve been through a lot. We all have.”

Murphy gave him a wry smile. “Not afraid of getting burned?” she asked.

He smiled back. “If I get burned by you, I probably deserve it.”

Murphy caught sight of herself in the mirror behind him again. The ground-in dirt and splashes of plasma fluid had left her hair, and the ghost of the woman she used to be was peeking through the corners of her face again. She sighed heavily. Maybe it was time to bury her.

Before she could change her mind, she let the towel fall.

Hancock’s eyes widened. He took in her wiry frame marked by the Commonwealth’s cruel indifference, before his dark eyes came to rest on hers.

“Are you sure?” he asked in a low voice, his hand clutching the bedspread beneath him.

“Yes.”

He was in front of her in an instant, tall and rugged and real. His hand hovered over her shoulder for a moment, hesitating, before trailing a finger down her arm as if to test the waters. Murphy shivered but held still and met his eyes.

“Murphy,” he said, hoarsely. She ran her hands up his coat, over the rough expanse of his neck to rest on either cheek. The skin of his face was tough, marked by years of exposure and the trademark radiation scars of the ghoulification process. She caressed it lightly, then pulled his face down into a soft kiss.

Hancock curled his arms around her waist and pulled her in close to him, his hands warm and firm against the curve of her spine. Murphy frowned slightly and pushed herself further into the kiss, seeking the hard edges she knew hid beneath his tender exterior.

Momentarily, Hancock broke apart from their embrace with a question in his eyes, followed immediately by realization. He shed his coat while Murphy unbuckled his shoulder sling and began to fumble with the laces on his shirt.

“Easy,” he chuckled, moving to undo the laces himself. “This get-up is even older than you.”

Murphy smiled and untied the flag he used as a belt instead. She slid her hands inside the waistline of his breeches and untucked his shirt, running her hands up under the fabric to feel the weathered muscles beneath.

Hancock’s buckled sling and vest fell to the ground, followed shortly afterward by his shirt. He stooped and lifted her up in one swift movement, pressing a hard kiss into the crook of her neck. Murphy wrapped her thighs around him and he carried her to the bed, scraping his teeth along her jawline before depositing her roughly on top of the covers.

Murphy squirmed playfully beneath him, heat building in her stomach and between her thighs. She’d been chaste now for well over 200 years, and every inch of her body was crying out for a touch, a joining, a handle on this fucked-up world.

He pressed her into the mattress, one hand firmly cradling her neck and the other running the length of her hip to her knee. She pulled him close, tracing the muscles of his arms and the length of his back at an eager pace. Hancock grinned and kissed her again, deeper, with a pointed application of pressure against her hips.

Murphy pushed back and ground her bare skin into the buckle of his belt, feeling the urgent response of his cock through his breeches. Clearly, the mayor wasn’t lacking any firepower in the bedroom. She reached down to run a hand inside his pants, but lost track of her motion when Hancock abandoned her mouth for one of her breasts.

She gasped as he tongued her nipple roughly, goosebumps forming across her chest from the sudden suction. Hancock slid his hand down to lightly thumb her other nipple, lazily tracing circles over the sensitive nub while he gently applied his teeth the other. His other hand drifted up her thigh to cup her ass, squeezing firmly before trailing inside her leg to the center of her heat.

Murphy arched her back as he slid a thumb across the crux of her, easing his way into the opening to lightly tease her clit. The touch disappeared as quickly as it had come, and Hancock gave her breast a light squeeze before shifting himself south, planting kisses along her stomach and navel and down the taut skin of her inner thigh.

“Please,” she breathed, and his mouth was on her, parting her and dancing along the seam that held her very center. Murphy had to keep herself from bucking in response, and her fingers curled into the blanket beneath her.

Hancock took his time, lightly tasting and then adding pressure as he went. Murphy cried out when he finally slid a finger home, her inner walls responding with a shudder. Satisfied, Hancock traced a pattern around her clit before adding a second finger.

Just when she felt the tension inside herself begin to spiral upward, Murphy felt the pressure of his hands and tongue disappear. Hancock straightened up and unbuckled his belt, kicking off his boots in haste. Murphy sat up to tug his breeches down, and finally he was as naked as her.

Murphy only had a beat to take in his rigid cock, long, tanned muscles and scarred figure before he pushed her back down and climbed on top of her. Carefully, he guided himself to her slick entrance and pressed forward.

She winced as he slid in, the pressure unfamiliar after so much time. They held still for a moment, giving her time to adjust to his size and the feel of the bond.

“Good to go, sunshine?” Hancock asked, nearly a whisper. She nodded, and he slowly began to move within her, soft and steady. Murphy pulled him down, welcoming the weight of him against her chest, peppering his shoulders and neck with kisses and nibbles.

Emboldened by her silent encouragement, Hancock increased his speed and force. He set a rhythm that quickly had Murphy gasping in satisfaction, a beat against her inner being that threatened to consume her.

Murphy’s inner tension built again in the wake of this rhythm, and when she felt the wave begin to crest, she arched against Hancock’s chest and screamed. He pressed her harder into the mattress, his strokes ragged and hard until he, too, cried out and curled above her in pleasure.

The two lay in a crumpled pile for a little while, and a warmth spread within Murphy’s stomach. She basked in its glow, until the glow spread up to her chest and she realized it wasn’t the innocent feeling she remembered.

“Hancock,” she said, tapping his shoulder.

“Mmm?” he responded, his mouth buried in the hair above her ear.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any Radaway around, would you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, now I know why people call their pairings "life-ruining assholes." Sex scenes are tough, folks. Hot take, right there.


	7. Something to Cherish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Murphy and MacCready piss off a swan.

Murphy awoke some time later, tangled up in the sheets and Hancock’s limbs. The bed smelled like sex and chems, and suddenly Murphy wanted to be anywhere else in the world. Slowly, she extricated herself from the peaceful scene and stood, tip toeing over to the tub and the piles of clothing she had left behind.

A row of liquor bottles filled the surface of the mayor’s dresser, and Murphy smiled to see an unopened bottle of Rooster’s rum hidden among the others. She grabbed the dusty bottle and stowed it away among her things. Hancock wouldn’t miss it.

The bath water stood cold and forgotten, and Murphy splashed some on herself before pulling on the clothes Hancock had loaned her and her worn leather boots. She shoved her vault suit and underwear into her pack and slung it over her shoulder, but before she could walk out the door she caught sight of the bottle of bubble bath she had left standing out.

Murphy looked at the little bottle, then back to the bed where Hancock softly snored, and decided to leave it. Hancock would get more use out of the fragrant relic than she would.

She sighed in resignation and closed her eyes for just a moment, and Nate was standing in the doorway of Hancock’s bedroom, casually leaning on the frame just the way he used to.

 _Take it,_ he said. _It’s your favorite._

Murphy froze and opened her eyes. She stared at the doorway, then shut her eyes again. Only darkness greeted her.

She fled the building before the ghost of her husband could confront her about anything else, pausing only to stuff the Blue Moon bubble bath into her bag.

* * *

 

The moon hung low over Goodneighbor, and Murphy could still hear music echoing out of the Third Rail into the stillness. The streets had cleared, save the odd neighborhood watchman making his rounds. Fahrenheit was leaning against the wall of the Old State House having a cigarette, and she offered Murphy a nod as she moved across the square.

Murphy nodded back but hurried on to the Memory Den. The door was unlocked, like it always was. Irma was a shrewd businesswoman, and she knew well enough that her best customers weren’t deterred by late hours of the night.

Murphy made her way into the lounge, and Irma spotted her immediately. Smiling suggestively, she rose from her fainting couch and approached Murphy like she was striding down a catwalk. Murphy, as always, was surprised by how tall the severe-looking woman could be when she decided to stand up.

“Well, well, well,” Irma said. “If it isn’t the savior of the Commonwealth. I was wondering when you’d come by to pick up your… soldier of fortune.”

She jerked her head at one of the memory loungers. Murphy peered around her and made out the top of MacCready’s ever-present green hat inside the glass bubble.

“How long has he been under this time?” she asked.

“About four hours,” Irma said, examining her nails. “Really, I don’t know why I waste the effort giving him the lecture about dwelling on the past too much. At this point, he practically lives there.”

Murphy sighed and walked to the dome MacCready was resting under. His eyes were closed, but she could tell they were moving wildly beneath his lids. His hands clenched the arms of the cushioned chair inside, his knuckles white.

“What’s he reliving?” she asked.

Irma walked to the control console the machine was hooked up to and pressed a few buttons. An image flickered to life on a small screen, black-and-white and grainy but unmistakably a woman in distress. Her dark hair was mussed and her eyes were wild and white in her shadowy face. She was talking, gesturing wildly at something behind her, hefting a toddler on her hip.

 _Lucy,_ Murphy thought. _Oh, Bobby, why?_

But despite the painful twist in her gut and the inevitable end she knew this woman would meet, Murphy knew why MacCready kept going back to this moment. She had been there. She was still there.

Something startled the phantom Lucy, and she whipped around to face the darkness of a subway tunnel behind her. Instinctively, she pulled her child in close to her chest and backed up toward the lens, toward what must have been MacCready’s viewpoint. The child, Duncan, turned his head toward his father and reached out a hand.

“Turn it off,” Murphy said. “I know how this ends.”

Irma obliged, and pressed a few more buttons on the console. “You know,” she said with a knowing smile. “I swear I have those same exact shorts.”

The memory lounger lid popped up, and MacCready’s eyes flew open.

“Hey,” he said angrily, then caught sight of Murphy standing next to Irma. His face fell.

“Time’s up,” Irma said. “Your boss is here.”

“I- It-” MacCready struggled to form words. He gave up and climbed out of the lounger, scooping up his stowed gear from a nearby chair. “Fine.”

“Did you settle up?” Murphy asked him. He nodded, and Irma waved them toward the door.

“Come back anytime,” she called as the two made their way down the hall, back into the moonlight.

MacCready didn’t ask where they were going, and Murphy didn’t feel obligated to tell him. He’d never been particularly interested in what the two of them were about to get up to until it was time to shoot something. Briefly, she wondered whether he’d be okay to wander into the ruined city without having had some sleep, but remembered how she’d come out of a memory lounger after exploring the brain of the mercenary who had put her husband down like a dog: Terrified, angry, but undeniably awake. Almost like the machine had initiated a REM sleep cycle while she was hopping around another man’s memories.

She tied up her hair with an old ribbon and some bobby pins before picking up her trusty power armor from KL-E-0’s shop, and the two made their way into what used to be downtown Boston.

Murphy didn’t pay much attention to where she was going. She followed Court to Tremont, tracing an old commute of hers, and before she knew it they were at Park Street Station, on the edge of Boston Common. MacCready stopped short next to her and pulled his sniper rifle off of his back, peering into the darkness ahead.

“Boss,” he said. “You sure about this? We can just go around.”

Murphy switched on the headlamp on her armor, lighting up the dead grass beyond the cracked sidewalk encircling the park. She could just make out the pond on the far side of the Common, the moonlight shining on the red bunches of bloodleaf and a hulking, white mound of swan boat remains.

“Why?” she said, almost cruelly. “I just demolished the biggest bad guy the Commonwealth has to offer. Might as well cross off the successor.”

She bent down and picked up a tire from a nearby pile of trash and chucked it as hard as she could toward the pond. It hit the murky water with a loud smack, sending ripples through the bloodleaf to lap at the sides of the swan boat pieces. MacCready’s face turned white.

The hunk of plastic bits rose from the water with a roar, brandishing a ship’s anchor in one hand and a shield fashioned from the prow of a gondola strapped to the other. The super mutant behemoth that called the pond home stretched its limbs and bellowed its displeasure.

Murphy knew she should have been afraid of the creature known by the city’s residents as “the Swan,” but suddenly she wanted nothing more than to punch the mutant in its painted white face.

“Find some cover,” she said to MacCready, and charged full tilt toward the monster.

The Swan spotted her immediately and scooped a hidden rock from the recesses of the pond. The boulder flew past Murphy’s left shoulder, smashing into an empty green fountain with a clang. The noise awakened the tour guide protectron robot from its kiosk: It sprang to life and began its monologue, ignoring the oncoming fight.

“Welcome, patriot, to Boston Common,” it said.

Murphy reached the edge of the pond and sprang at the Swan’s torso, releasing a roar of her own. It looked taken aback at this development and stumbled slightly, giving Murphy the opening she needed to grab the netting around its shoulders and knock its jaw back with her power fist.

“The start of the Freedom trail,” the protectron droned in the background.

The Swan and Murphy fell over into the water with a giant splash, both opponents flailing and trying to get a decent grip on the other. Murphy found her footing first and took advantage of the situation to smash the gondola prow into pieces with a well-placed stomp. She caught sight of MacCready taking potshots from behind one of the park trees, clearly reconsidering his decision to follow her into the night.

The protectron spotted the wrestling titans in the pond and creaked toward the noise. “Feast your ears and learn more about the historic Freedom Trail and learn the history of Boston Common.”

Murphy latched onto the Swan’s arm just as the behemoth found its feet, doing her best to wrestle the ship anchor it was using as a hammer away from it. The Swan spun in a circle, howling in confusion as MacCready’s bullets landed in its shoulders and chest.

“Aim for its head!” Murphy managed to yell before the monster shook her loose. She and the anchor went flying and crashed into the nearby gazebo, scattering barrels of radioactive waste and the bones of a less-fortunate traveler.

The Swan regained its bearings and started toward her, its footsteps shaking the ground around the Common. Murphy saw a bullet tear through its ear before it was upon her, ripping a column from the gazebo and brandishing it like a club. It paused to roar in triumph before smashing the column down over her torso.

Murphy gasped and rolled out of the way, but the marble column cracked to pieces over her left arm. The metal frame of her power armor buckled, and the plating bit deep into her forearm.

“Murphy!” MacCready yelled from across the park. The Swan turned its head and sniffed the air. Murphy took the opportunity to draw one of her plasma pistols and shoot the behemoth point blank in the kneecap.

The Swan screamed in pain as a portion of its leg melted away into bright, green goo, exposing bone and flesh in a sizzle of energy. It swung wildly with the stump of the column and crashed through the gazebo roof, bringing tiles and bricks of marble raining down on Murphy.

“Error. Response not recognized,” the tour guide protectron said in answer to the noise. MacCready ran to the robot and shadowed its slow trajectory across the park, taking shots between its arms at the creature as it demolished the rest of the gazebo.

Murphy pulled herself out of the debris and stood, firing shot after shot into the Swan’s torso. Green plasma ran down its chest in rivulets, but the behemoth was undeterred by the little energy bursts. It tossed the column aside and moved to pick up its attacker, but Murphy dodged its grab and danced around it, back into the pond.

“Murphy!” MacCready yelled from behind the protectron. “Duck!”

Without question, Murphy dove into the pond, shrieking as the impact tore the jagged metal through her wounded arm. She lifted her head just in time to see MacCready light the rag of a bottle and throw it at the Swan.

Flames exploded on the super mutant’s chest, and the beast screamed in fury as the plasma ignited and exploded outward. As the flames spread over the rest of its body, the screams turned to gurgles and the twisted colossus fell to the earth with a violent shudder, twitching in the throes of death.

Murphy pushed herself up out of the irradiated murk and trained her pistol on the pile of gray-green goop and muscle. MacCready left his cover behind the protectron and emptied his gun into the creature’s head. It jerked after every bullet, and finally lay still, flames flickering over the mess of ropes and boat pieces covering its body.

“Murphy,” MacCready said, finally shouldering his rifle after a moment to catch his breath. “That was stupid.”

Murphy popped off her helmet and gave MacCready a sullen scowl. “No it wasn’t,” she said. “That thing’s been killing people for years. The Common used to be a beautiful place.”

MacCready shook his head. “The Swan didn’t make it ugly,” he said. “The war did.”

“Don’t try to blame this on me and my generation,” Murphy said with a huff.

“I wasn’t- what-” MacCready shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

“That’s what you mean, right?” Murphy said. Her pent-up frustration and leftover aggression spilled out into her voice. “This place, this thing, this world- it’s all our fault. My fault.”

She hit the release latch on her armor and nearly fell out the back as the metal plating slid out of her arm. Blood ran freely down to her elbow and dripped onto the grass. A sickly bruise was already forming around where the gazebo column had come crashing down.

“Murphy!” MacCready moved to catch her, and he dragged her over to sit on a nearby fallen column. The protectron tour guide followed them like a stray dog.

“Let us go back hundreds of years,” it said happily.

“Let’s not,” Murphy said, gritting her teeth in pain.

MacCready pulled a stimpak out of his traveling bag and injected it into Murphy’s arm before she could protest.

“I really don’t know what you’re on about,” he said, holding her arm still. “I just meant it was stupid to take on a super mutant behemoth, at night, in a pond, with just two people.”

He gave her one of his easy smiles, the kind that gave him away as a good person despite his rough exterior. “I’m not trying to blame you for anything beyond that decision. That would be _really_ stupid.”

Murphy sighed and nodded. “I know, I’m sorry,” she said. “I just, I keep thinking that maybe there was something… _anything_ that I could have done back then, before, that might have changed the way things ended up. Maybe, if I’d gone to more protests, or enlisted alongside Nate, or voted for this party instead of that one, the nukes wouldn’t have flown and the world wouldn’t have ended.”

She hid her face in her hand. "Christ, if I hadn't gotten _pregnant,_ the world would be better." 

MacCready chuckled and pried her hand away. “Come on.”

She smiled hesitantly. “It’s dumb, I know, but I guess that’s why I try too hard sometimes to fix things. Part of me feels like it is a little bit my fault. And even if it isn’t, it’s not like the rest of the pre-war population is around to atone for their sins.”

Murphy gestured with her free arm at the silent grounds of the Common. “Maybe if I’d done things differently, you’d be here with your family taking rides on the swan boats instead of patching up a crazy lady who took on a mutated monster in hand-to-hand combat.”

“It is the year 1775,” the protectron said.

MacCready studied her. “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe I’d have some sort of perfect life that I can’t imagine, where I don’t have to shoot people for money and I never have to worry about radstorms or giant scorpions or some assh- some idiot with a flamethrower trying to steal my hat.”

Murphy laughed, then hissed when the sudden movement jostled her wound.

“More likely though,” he went on, “I’d never have existed.”

Murphy frowned. “Existence in this world isn’t usually something to cherish,” she said.

“No, it’s not,” MacCready agreed. “But the alternative means I’d never have met Lucy. Never had Duncan. Never seen any of the sights I’ve seen, walked the roads I’ve walked.”

He put a hand on her shoulder. “Made the friends I’ve made.”

Murphy smiled sadly and covered his hand with hers, squeezing it in thanks.

“For seven years, thousands of British soldiers have camped on this very soil in their orderly rows of tents,” the protectron droned in the background. “Led by General Thomas Gage, they seek to quell the growing tide of Revolution.”

“Honestly though, from what I’ve heard about the Great War, there was nothing any of you could have done to stop it,” MacCready said. “Decisions like that are made in windowless rooms by handfuls of men without souls. Or computers.”

“I know,” Murphy said. “But guilt’s a hell of a drug, Bobby.”

MacCready stretched out his legs and released her arm. “I thought we got this out of the way earlier on top of Mass Fusion, but is there anything else bothering you? I reckon we’ve got a couple of hours before anyone realizes the Swan is a pile of iguana bits now.”

Images of Hancock’s body over hers and the face of her dead husband swam across Murphy’s mind. She pursed her lips.

“Maybe,” she said. “But it’s… delicate.”

MacCready raised his eyebrows. “I’ll be gentle,” he said with a smirk.

Murphy shook her head. “I’ll tell you later. Maybe.”

She turned to face him. “What about you?” she asked, changing the subject. “Either you’ve developed a crush on Irma or you’re doing your best to relive all that time you spent living in a cave.”

MacCready’s smirk disappeared. “Right,” he said. “That.”

“That.”

“How much did you see?” he asked.

“Just the end bit,” Murphy replied. “Lucy holding Duncan in the tunnel. Bobby, why would you want to go through that again?”

MacCready pulled his hat off his head and ran his fingers through his tawny hair. The ends of it stuck up in disarray.

“It’s not that I want to,” he said. “I just… feel like I’m doing her a disservice if I don’t revisit her at the end.”

“What do you mean?”

“Normally, I start out with the early stuff,” MacCready admitted. “The first time I met her, the little moments I used to steal with her, the days when I was head over heels and ready to leave behind the life I knew with the Gunners to take her home to the Capital Wasteland. That was years before we had Duncan, before we got the farm in Canterbury Commons and started to make out a living, and she grew into my empty spaces and I grew into hers. She was the fire in my chest on cold nights. She saved my life.”

He bowed his head. “But I couldn’t save hers. I owe her so much, and I’ll never be able to repay that debt.”

Murphy put an arm around MacCready. She could see tears in his eyes, but he turned and shrugged her off.

“Bobby, I know you put a lot of stock in keeping your ledger straight,” she said gently. “But I’m finding it hard to understand how reliving her last moments helps wipe the debt out.”

“It doesn’t,” MacCready said sharply. “I know that. Most of the time I can’t even finish the memory, but believe me, if I didn’t remind myself that she’s gone, I’d never leave that chair. I just see the look in her eyes, the fear, and… I can’t…”

He broke off his thought and the two sat in silence.

“I can’t say I get it,” Murphy said finally. “But I know what you’re feeling.”

“Yeah?” MacCready said, turning back to her. “How, exactly?”

“Kellogg,” Murphy said flatly.

MacCready frowned. “What, that mercenary you killed? What does he have to do with this?”

Murphy drew in a shaky breath and explained: The lead from Nick Valentine, the trek with Dogmeat across the Commonwealth in search of cigar stubs, the final showdown in Fort Hagen and the twisted piece of tech that had come out of the killer’s head when she blew him away. She told him about her first visit to Goodneighbor, about Doctor Amari rigging the tech inside Nick and navigating the fragments of the mercenary’s life until she was staring at herself, helpless and screaming inside a cryogenic pod while Nate was murdered mere feet away from her and Shaun was whisked away to the Institute. MacCready listened to her full story, stone-faced.

“Aren’t we a pair,” he said when she had finished.

Murphy’s mouth twitched into the ghost of a smile. “Serendipitous,” she said.

“Let me guess,” MacCready said. “That’s when you went on your bender with Hancock.”

“Yep,” Murphy replied. “Suddenly sobriety didn’t hold its appeal anymore.”

“Can’t imagine why it ever would again, after something like that.”

“That reminds me,” Murphy said, standing up and walking over to her power armor. She retrieved her pack from the built-in storage area and pulled out the bottle of rum she had stowed away.

“Got you something,” she said, holding it out to MacCready. He accepted the bottle and smoothed out its label with reverence.

“Good old Rooster’s,” he said. “I hope you thanked that old ghoul for me.”

Murphy turned away so he wouldn’t see her blushing. “Something like that,” she said. She grabbed a chunk of marble from the gazebo rubble and used it to pound the bent metal of her power armor back enough to slip her arm into it. “Consider it an apology gift. I shouldn’t put you into harm’s way like that just because I’m having a hell of a day.”

“Apology accepted.” MacCready stood, sliding the bottle into his bag. “Though at the rate we’re going, it’s probably going to be more than just a day.”

Murphy smiled at him. “Ready to go? I think I know where we’re headed now.”

He nodded. She climbed in and strode off into the night, MacCready close behind.


	8. Brave New World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Murphy eats noodles.

The little town in the center of the baseball stadium still slept, though Murphy could see rays of sunshine peeking over the upper stands in the east. Judging by the amount of additional garbage on the ground, she didn’t think Diamond City would be waking up anytime soon.

Murphy and MacCready made their way down to the center of the marketplace, stepping over broken beer bottles, discarded food wrappers and more than a few burnt-out firework casings. The pair caught sight of one lone resident in a trench coat and fedora sitting at the rusty, blue counter, idly tapping at a cigarette while the bartender clanked around cleaning up noodle bowls.

Takahashi spotted them approaching and turned to greet them in the usual way. “Nan-ni shimasho-ka?” the protectron asked.

Nick Valentine chuckled. “And the people of the Commonwealth slept soundly, for the greatest monster was gone,” he said without turning around. “It took a lotta guts to do what you did. I know it couldn’t have been easy.”

Murphy popped off her helmet. “You’d be surprised,” she replied. “It was as easy as pushing a button.”

Valentine laughed. “Well, aren’t we lucky you showed to do the deed,” he said. The synthetic detective smashed his cigarette out in a nearby ashtray and stood, turning to face the pair. “It’s hard to even wrap your head around… a world without the Institute lurking in the shadows.”

“Gonna need to find a new boogeyman, I suppose,” Murphy said. “Tell Skinny Malone to polish up his resume.”

Valentine smiled at that, but MacCready just looked puzzled. “Pre-war humor,” Murphy said gently.

“Boogeyman or no boogeyman, an Institute-free life is just the life the people of the Commonwealth will get to lead now,” Valentine said. “All thanks to you.”

Murphy bowed her head and looked away. “Right,” she said, before straightening up again purposefully.

“I’m starving,” she said. “Did Takahashi run out of noodles during the party or can I ditch this rig and have breakfast?”

Valentine gestured at the empty stools. “Help yourself,” he said.

Murphy made her way over to the power armor station by Home Plate and disentangled herself from the metal frame. The suit would definitely need some work before she took it out again.

“Hey, uh, boss,” MacCready said beside her. “I’m pretty beat.”

Murphy looked him over. He was sporting a few cuts and scrapes from their fight with the Swan and circles were forming under his eyes. She rummaged through her pack and tossed him the key to her base in Diamond City.

“Try not to get the sheets all dirty,” she said. MacCready nodded and disappeared into the house, while Murphy went to join Valentine at the Power Noodles stand.

Takahashi set a bowl of broth and noodles down in front of her, and Murphy went to work devouring it while Valentine counted out some caps for the robot. The two sat in silence for a bit, Valentine working his way through another cigarette while Murphy soaked in the luxury of warm food she didn’t have to hunt, skin, debone and spit-roast herself.

“So that’s the sort you’re taking up with now?” Valentine asked finally.

Murphy raised her eyebrows and slurped up a noodle. “Yeah?” she replied. “Something you want to say, Nick?”

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. Murphy stared back defiantly- or as defiantly as she could with a noodle hanging out of her mouth.

“Seems a bit rough around the edges,” Valentine said, pulling absentmindedly at his coat sleeve with a thoughtful smile. “But, I suppose I’m one to talk.”

Murphy swallowed and shrugged. “He might have had one too many sunburns or run-ins with deathclaws or tours with the Gunners, but who nowadays hasn’t?” she said. “He shoots straight and he’s a big softie under those sharp cheekbones.”

She patted Valentine’s arm. “Just like you,” she said affectionately.

He smiled and stared at the counter, a hint of sadness behind the golden halos of his eyes.

“How are you doing with all of this?” Murphy asked him while she struggled to scoop up a stray noodle with her chopsticks. She had never quite gotten the hang of the utensils, in this life or the one before it, but she was too proud to ask for a fork.

Valentine took off his hat and examined the brim. “Well, there were a lot of questions I was hoping the Institute could answer, but I’ve already made it this far without ‘em,” he said. “I think I’ll manage.”

Murphy gave up on the chopsticks and picked up the bowl. “Sturges supposedly pulled a ton of data off of a network scan I did for him when I first relayed into the place,” she said. “Maybe whatever you’re looking for is on the holotape I smuggled out.”

“Appreciate it,” Valentine said while Murphy gulped down rad chicken broth. “Next time I’m inclined to go waltzing all the way up to Sanctuary, I’ll drop in.”

Murphy wiped her face with her sleeve and lowered her voice. “You could always check in with your brother,” she suggested.

Valentine shook his head. “I’m not so sure I want to pay DiMA a visit right after you blew up his birthplace. With his logic, he’d probably blame us for destroying the machines that created him.”

“You’re right,” Murphy said. “Your brother’s a Grade-A cunt.”

That earned her a laugh. “Sorry to disappoint you, doll, but I’m pretty sure he would just agree with you and thank you for the ‘Grade-A’ rating.”

“Nan-ni shimasho-ka?” Takahashi asked as he took away Murphy’s empty bowl.

“No thanks,” Murphy replied. The robot tottered away to wash the dish.  

“How about you?” Valentine asked her.

“What about me?”

“How’re you doing with all this?”

Murphy sighed and pressed a hand to her forehead. “I’m not sure,” she answered. “Actually, I wanted to ask you about that.”

Valentine scrutinized her face. Murphy could see the hint of an old world cop behind his plastic face, studying her for clues about her distress. It brought out the inner lawyer in her.

“It’s about pre-war memories,” she said, layering her words carefully. “I had… some alone time after everything happened, and I… had a hallucination.”

Valentine’s eyes widened in surprise. “You had a flashback?” he asked. “What’d you see?”

“Well, it wasn’t really a flashback,” Murphy admitted. “More of a case of someone being where they can’t exist. Don’t exist.”

“I see,” Valentine said. “And this… person… what did they do?”

Murphy relaxed herself and kept on her poker face. “They greeted me. And gave me advice.”

“Anything earth-shattering?”

“Sorry,” Murphy said. “I didn’t have time to ask for the meaning of life. They disappeared pretty quickly.”

“Huh.” Valentine stroked his battered chin with his exposed, metal hand. “Could be trauma, I suppose. It doesn’t sound anything like my usual memory visitations.”

Murphy pressed her lips together in thought. “So you don’t think the hallucinations could be… synthetic… in nature?” she asked.

He chuckled and turned to her. “Worried you’re an Institute replacement, Murphy? Not a day gone by since you blew up the boogeyman and here you are, worrying that you _are_ the boogeyman.”

Murphy grimaced. “It’s a valid worry,” she said. “Replacing important people was kind of the Institute’s M.O. Not to sound conceited, but who’s more important for surface world interactions than me?”

Valentine nodded. “Ordinarily, that would be the case. But I think you know as well as I that your son would’ve never allowed that to happen.”

“Maybe my son wouldn’t have allowed it, but the director of the Institute certainly would have at least considered it,”  Murphy said flatly.

“Well, maybe if you tell me exactly what you saw, I can shed some light on it from a synth’s standpoint,” Valentine said. “Come on, Murphy, don’t hold out on me. I’m a detective, for Christ’s sake. I’ll figure it out one way or another.”

Murphy sighed and put her head in her hands. “I saw Nate,” she said. “Just… Nate. Being Nate.”

She could feel Valentine’s eyes boring into the side of her head, but she didn’t want to meet them.

“It was quiet, I was by myself in Goodneighbor, and then he was just… there. Reaching out to help me like he used to, calling me by a nickname. And then, after I tried to wipe him away with some rash decision-making, he came back, and suggested I do something I was thinking about, but wasn’t going to go through with.”

She turned her head slightly to meet Valentine’s gaze. “I may have stolen some soap. On his recommendation. From Hancock.”

“Hancock?” Valentine said, surprised. His eyes narrowed. “Was our mutual friend from Goodneighbor part of this… rash decision-making?”

Murphy squirmed. “Possibly.”

“Jackass,” Valentine muttered. “But Nate. Think: Did he do or say anything that he wouldn’t- or couldn’t- have said when he was alive?”

“Like what?”

“Remarks about the landscape, references to things that exist now that didn’t back then, anything like that,” he said.

Murphy shook her head. “He barely said two sentences,” she said. “Why?”

Valentine nodded. “It’s a sign of whether the hallucination is organic or implanted,” he said. “I know I’m the poster child for the Institute implanting personalities and memories of someone else into a synth, but it’s imprecise and volatile when combined with a being capable of figuring itself out and forming its own memories.”

He leaned back on his stool. “There’s a reason they stopped doing it, and it’s the same reason Desdemona and her crew have such a spotty success rate when it comes to rehoming their rescues.”

Murphy shushed him and glanced around the marketplace, but the only two things moving in town yet were Takahashi and Myrna’s Mister Handy robot Percy, who was idly whizzing about outside Diamond City Surplus. “Keep it down,” she said.

“Sorry,” Valentine said with a shrug. “But other than that, it also makes no sense from a logical standpoint. Why would the Institute murder the mother of their leader and then scoop her out and put her in a new body? Even if your son sanctioned it, they wouldn’t do that and then immediately try to put you in charge of the whole circus.”

He had a point, Murphy thought. Putting a synth in charge of the Institute would have been like putting the lions in charge of the zoo, at least to the Institute scientists. No one would have approved of it.

“You’re right,” she admitted. “I guess I’ve just been on edge for anything out of the ordinary ever since DiMA suggested I might be a synth.”

“Ugh, DiMA again,” Valentine said. “That hunk of gears and sprockets needs to get out of his observatory more. Listen, Murphy. For me, shadows of the past creep up on me when this life starts to imitate the old Nick’s. Someone will use a phrase, or I’ll see an old image. Then the memory slides in like a train to the station and suddenly I’m back in Boston, watching a commercial for Sugar Bombs or on a date with Jenny uptown. Like a photograph that hasn’t even been touched by the bombs.”

He looked at her inquisitively. “That sound anything like what you saw?”

Murphy pondered it. “No,” she said. “I guess mine was more organic.”

Nick put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it. “Then it’s probably from the good, old-fashioned psychological cabinet of curiosities,” he said. “I’d recommend a shrink, but you just blew up the remnants of the last one I went to.”

Murphy smiled and covered Valentine’s hand with her own. “Shame,” she said.

“What you can do, though, is get some sleep and come see me when you’re ready,” he said. “I’ve got a few cases I wouldn’t mind having you take a look at. Got a missing person who may have run off with the Atom Cats and a request from a friend about a dog.”

“Thanks, Nick,” Murphy said. “I’ll stop in when I’m feeling more like myself.”

“Good,” Valentine said. “Ellie’s been bugging me about closing out your case file for a while now. I’d hate to disappoint her.”

He stood, dusted his hat off and set it jauntily on his head again. He made a few steps across the market toward his office, before he turned around.

“This is a brave new world you’ve ushered in,” he said, sweeping an arm out at the glowing morning sky. “But I suppose it’ll do.”

Murphy smiled. “I suppose we’ll have to wait and see if it’s Huxley or Shakespeare,” she replied.

Valentine winked at her. “Thanks to you, doll, I’m inclined to think the latter.”

And with a tip of his hat, the detective strolled off into the new morning.


	9. An Emergency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Murphy jumps off a roof.

Murphy crept into Home Plate before the city woke up, carefully shutting the door behind her so as not to wake MacCready. She could hear him shifting around in bed on the second floor of her little townhouse, and his personal effects were strewn around the sparse living room. Murphy smiled. Clearly he had made himself at home.

She tiptoed up the stairs and found the mercenary in bed, his traveling clothes on the floor and his hat hung on the bedpost. True to sniper form, he had kept his rifle close, within grabbing distance.

Though she hadn’t made a sound, MacCready murmured something and turned over, pulling the covers up over his head. Murphy decided to leave him to his dreams and headed further up, climbing the rusty ladder on the third level to emerge into the junked camper that was perched atop the house. She flung herself down into the old armchair she had dragged up there months ago and sighed in pleasure, taking in the view.

The shop keeps of Diamond City were starting to greet the day. Becky Fallon ascended from her basement store and set a sandwich board sign above her stairs- “FREE button spares with EVERY PURCHASE,” it read. Murphy wondered whether the trader Hancock had bought the bubble bath from had come through town with a few more goodies.

Arturo Rodriguez ushered his daughter, Nina, out the front door of their home and leaned confidently against his counter, waving good morning to Myrna next door. Myrna returned the gesture with a curt nod and went back to running down her inventory list with Percy.

Neither Moe Cronin or Solomon had shown their faces yet. Murphy guessed they were among the party crowd majority who would be waking up around noon. She noted that Cathy was out front of the barbershop having her morning smoke, but John hadn’t joined her yet. The morning guard shift looked a little thin, too.

Murphy was wondering whether she should go snag some bottles of Nuka-Cola from her stash and pay Piper a visit when the idyllic morning stillness was punctured by gunshots. She drew her plasma pistols and squinted at the upper stands, where the noise had come from. To her horror, a lone figure in a guard’s outfit teetered on the edge of the service elevator to the mayor’s office, before plummeting to the ground.

In an instant, Murphy was on her feet. Without thinking, she ran the length of the roof of Home Plate and leapt onto the neighboring roof of Chem-I-Care, then the Mega surgery center. She slid down the corrugated metal panels and dropped into the street, surprising Doctor Sun.

“This better be an emergency,” he said incredulously.

“Someone’s shot,” Murphy replied. “Come on.”

She took off at a sprint, not bothering to see if he would follow her. The fallen figure lay crumpled at the base of the service lift, and Murphy recognized the person’s ginger hair with a jolt of disbelief.

“Danny!” she cried, reaching his side. She looked the security gatekeeper over in shock. A red bloom was spreading over his midriff, his left arm was splayed out at a funny angle and his eyes were fluttering, struggling to stay open. “Danny, what happened?”

Pastor Clements ran up beside her. “Lord, help us,” he said.

“Two slugs in the gut, plus the fall from the elevator…” Danny Sullivan sputtered. “I ain’t gonna make it.”

“Danny, stay with me,” Murphy reached for her pack, but found she had left the bag behind. “Pastor, do you have a stimpak?”

“Here,” said Doctor Sun, arriving to the scene out of breath. He handed Murphy a syringe, which she hurriedly stuck into Danny’s neck.

“Hold on, Sullivan,” Pastor Clements said. “Just make God wait a little longer.”

Danny clenched his teeth in pain as the medicine entered his bloodstream. “You gotta listen. Mayor McDonough. I saw him with one of those Institute synths…”

“What?” Doctor Sun said.

“Danny, lie still,” Murphy said.

“Piper was right,” Sullivan went on. “He’s one of them.”

A small crowd of residents had gathered around the scene already. “McDonough’s a synth?” one cried out. “Oh, god, what do we do now?”

“You can stop standing around,” Pastor Clements said.

The crowd murmured among themselves in fear. A few guards pulled out their weapons.

“What happened to you, Danny?” Murphy pressed.

Danny laid back, his eyes steadying on her. “I was making my rounds near the mayor’s office when I heard shouting. Thought he was in trouble at first… Then when I found him, he was with a synth. One of those older ones with- with all the metal parts. Said something about how ‘they can’t do this to him.’”

Murphy leaned forward as he was speaking and grabbed his arm, roughly pulling it back into its socket. Danny yelled at the sudden pain, but found he could once again flex his fingers and gave her a look of relief.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Stay still,” Murphy chided. “But go on.”

“They- they noticed I was there,” Danny said. “Got plugged two times before I ran to the elevator. After that, it’s… kind of hazy.”

He leaned back. “If you don’t mind… I’m… I’m just gonna stay here for a bit.”

Pastor Clements knelt down beside Murphy. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll stay here with him. God willing, he’ll make a full recovery.”

Doctor Sun nodded in agreement. Murphy stood and ran for the elevator, pistols at the ready. To her disgust, none of the Diamond City security guards followed her.

“Cowards,” she muttered. She punched the lift’s button and the rig slowly began its ascent.

Even before the yellow platform had crested over the lip of the mayor’s office window, Murphy could hear Piper Wright carrying on inside the office.

“I knew it!” the intrepid reporter was shouting, punctuating her words with loud banging noises. Piper’s signature red coat and press cap came into view, bobbing and swaying while she enthusiastically kicked the closed door to Mayor McDonough’s private office. Geneva and the mayor were nowhere to be seen.

“I knew you were a synth, McDonough!” Piper shouted.

“Yes, Piper, congratulations!” McDonough’s voice came through the door, muffled but clearly panicked. “You’ve won. I hope you break your foot trying to kick that door down!”

Piper charged the door with her shoulder but only succeeded in knocking her hat off. She caught sight of Murphy stepping off the lift as she retrieved it.

“Oh, hey Blue,” she said, offering up an easy grin. She was clearly in her element.

“Hey Red,” Murphy replied.

Piper gave the door another kick, to no avail. “Dammit!” she said. “McDonough’s locked the door. It won’t budge.”

“Got a key?” Murphy asked.

“Pretty sure the mayor had the only one. There’s gotta be a way in.” Piper turned and surveyed the room, searching for something. “Geneva used to have some way of opening the door. Maybe check her desk?”

Murphy pulled out a drawer on the desk, rifling through the folders within.

“Nothing but files in h-” she said, before catching sight of a hidden button tucked back behind the leg space. She pressed it, and the door behind her popped open.

Murphy and Piper turned to face the imposter mayor, who greeted the two of them with the nose of his gun. Murphy noted with some amusement that McDonough seemed to have duct-taped a combat knife to the pipe pistol. His secretary Geneva kneeled on the office floor beside him, her hands in the air.

Murphy took a step forward, and McDonough cocked his pistol. “That’s far enough,” he said.

“Help me,” Geneva whimpered. “He’s _crazy!_ ”

McDonough ignored her. “I am _not_ just going to be discarded and tossed to the wolves. I’m the _mayor,_ goddammit!” he said. "They sent some discount messenger to tell me I’ve outlived my usefulness. My _usefulness!_ ”

He gave Geneva a sharp kick in the ribs, and the girl shrieked in pain. Piper whipped out her own pistol and Murphy raised hers.

“Mayor McDonough,” Murphy said carefully. “I can help you, but not when you’re holding a hostage. Let her go.”

“All-” McDonough made as if to launch into another passionate rant, but thought better of it. “All right. She can go.”

Geneva squeaked and scrambled to her feet, crossing the room to hide behind her two rescuers. McDonough shot her a look of contempt.

“Now I’ll tell you what’s going to happen next,” he said. “I’m walking out of this city, unharmed, with my dignity intact.”

“You’re not getting off the hook that easy, McDonough!” Piper said indignantly. “You have to answer for what you’ve done!”

“I’m either walking out of this city a free man, or I’m killing as many of you… disgusting, filthy savages as I can!” McDonough retorted.

“What are you going to do then, McDonough?” Murphy asked.

She could see in his face that he didn’t know the answer. “I can’t go back to the Institute. I can’t stay _here,_ ” he said. “But I’m a man of… resourcefulness. I’ll make my way.”

His tone changed, to one Murphy had heard before, from criminals trying to wheel and deal their way out of a sentence they couldn’t avoid. “Just let me go,” he said smoothly. “Hasn’t there been enough bloodshed? Think about poor Mr. Sullivan.”

Murphy shook her head. “You’re going to stand trial, and these people are going to have justice.”

“Lord knows you’ve got plenty to answer for,” Piper agreed.

“Trial?” McDonough spat. “Please. You know how these people feel about synths. I won’t be stuck in a prison while they gloat!”

Murphy recognized his change in posture a split second before he fired his gun, and she slammed into Piper to knock her out of the way before firing shots of her own. The plasma blasts hit McDonough square in the chest, and the poorly-modified gun fell from his hands as his chest caved in. Diamond City’s mayor slumped to the floor, and Murphy knew he wouldn’t be getting up again.

“You okay?” she asked Piper.

“Peachy,” Piper replied. She straightened her hat and strolled over to her adversary. “He’s dead.”

Geneva fainted dead away in the office doorway. Murphy left her there and joined Piper by the mayor’s body.

“I can’t say McDonough didn’t deserve worse, but…” Piper hung her head and sighed. “Wow.”

Murphy holstered her pistols and put an arm around the reporter. “Yeah,” she said. “You were right. All along.”

Piper gave her a weak smile. “I wanted to be,” she said. “But at the same time, I didn't. You know?”

Murphy poked the dead synth with her foot. “Now what?” she asked.

“Well, without a mayor, the city council will be next in line to pick up the pieces,” Piper said. “Let’s hope they do a better job. I don’t know when people are going to be ready for another mayoral election. Not going to be soon, though.”

She sighed again. “But at least now, Diamond City will finally have the truth.”

“I didn’t mean government-wise,” Murphy said. “I meant, who should we report this to?”

Piper chuckled. “Normally I’d say the mayor, but given the circumstances…”

She cast her eyes around the room and pointed to a megaphone atop a nearby filing cabinet. Murphy recognized it from the first time she had entered Diamond City, when Mayor McDonough had made a speech to the residents about how he definitely was _not_ a synth.

“I have an idea,” Piper said.


	10. Parfait Opportunity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Piper falls in love with a megaphone.

“Attention everyone!” Piper yelled to the crowd assembled around the stage by the mutfruit orchard. Murphy handed her the megaphone and surveyed the chattering masses. It looked like all of Diamond City had turned out to see if the rumors were true. Vadim Bobrov was doing a roaring sales pitch for liquor in the back of the crowd, while his twin Yefim sat on a bench with his chin in his hand, doing his best to ignore his brother’s capitalization efforts.

Danny Sullivan tapped her on the shoulder. He was back on his feet, but still supported by one of his security team buddies. “You sure this is a good idea?” he asked her.

Before Murphy could answer, Piper switched on the megaphone and aimed it into the crowd. “ATTENTION,” she boomed. “SHUT YOUR TRAPS.”

The assembled residents wound down their conversations and stared at the group on the stage. Murphy caught sight of Nick Valentine and his secretary Ellie Perkins in the back, both wearing grave expressions with crossed arms. Not far away from them, Miss Edna and Mr. Zwicky shepherded their class to some empty benches.

“Have a seat, children,” she could hear Miss Edna saying. “This is a _parfait_ opportunity to learn more about current events.”

“Now,” Piper said, turning down the volume on the megaphone slightly. “I suppose you’re all here because most of you have heard by now that our esteemed Mayor McDonough was not, in fact, who he said he was.”

There were audible gasps from the crowd. “Well I never,” said Eustace Hawthorne in the front row.

“That’s right,” Piper said. “The Institute played us like a fiddle. I’d love to say I told you so, but we don’t have the time. As of an hour ago, we are officially without elected leadership.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

“It’s true,” Danny spoke up. “The mayor was replaced by a synth. We don’t know when, or what happened to the real McDonough, but the fake one got what was comin’ to him.”

He gestured at Piper and Murphy. “Thanks to these two.”

“Now hold on just a minute,” said Ann Codman from the back, standing up with an accusatory finger pointed at the stage. “How do we know you two didn’t just conspire together to take out the mayor and weasel your way into office? Maybe _you’re_ the synths.”

“Sit down, Ann,” Piper said, annoyed. “Just because you live a few stories above everyone else doesn’t mean you know what you’re talking about.”

“The mayor _shot_ me, Mrs. Codman,” Danny said. “You can ask Geneva when she wakes up.”

Ann sat back down in a huff. Murphy took the megaphone from Piper and unfolded the list of names the two of them had compiled from McDonough’s records.

“I know none of you is ready to vote in a new mayor today, so we’re going to be reinstating the Diamond City council, effective immediately. Your first meeting is going to be this evening at six. Now, this is the list of individuals who sat on the last council.”

She read them off, one by one. “Malcolm Latimer. Eustace Hawthorne. Ann Codman. Doc Crocker. Henry Cooke.”

Piper took the megaphone back. “If you haven’t been keeping up with them, those last two are confirmed dead and/or missing. So what we’re gonna do, right now, is have a vote on two new council members. Opening nominations… now.”

Ann Codman stood up again. “I nominate my husband, Clarence Codman.”

Valentine laughed. “Well aren’t you ambitious, Ann,” he said. “You and your husband can’t serve on the same council.”

“That’s right,” Piper said. “Immediate family members of existing council members are not eligible.”

“Is there an age limit?” piped up Sheng Kawolski. Miss Edna shushed him.

“Fine,” Ann said. “I nominate Becky Fallon.”

“Do you accept the nomination?” Piper asked Becky.

“I suppose,” Becky replied. “But I’m not giving you a discount, Ann.”

“Any other nominations?” Piper asked.

“I nominate Arturo Rodriguez,” Valentine said.

“I accept,” Arturo said. “Can I bring Nina to the meetings?”

“No,” said Ann.

“Yes,” Piper replied. “Ann, sit down.”

“I nominate Nick Valentine,” said Ellie with a smile.

Valentine looked at her in disbelief. “What?”

“Yeah, I nominate Nick too,” Arturo said.

“Nick’s good people,” said Danny. “Well… you know what I mean.”

“I…” Valentine stumbled over his words. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you accept,” Ellie said, giving him a poke.

The old detective scratched his plastic chin. “Alright, I guess,” he said. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint anyone.”

“Unbelievable,” said Myrna, shifting in her seat. “We just got rid of the synth mayor, now we gotta elect a synth councilman?”

Eustace elbowed her. “Nick ain’t hiding it,” she scolded.

“Are there any other nominations?” Piper asked.

Sheffield raised his hand in the back. “I nominate myself,” he said.

Piper rolled her eyes and called on Cathy, who had her hand raised with a cigarette pinned in her fingers.

“I nominate the General,” she said.

Murphy laughed in surprise. “I couldn’t."

“Why not?” Piper said. “You’ve got loads of leadership experience.”

“That’s just it,” Murphy replied. “At this point, I’ve got too many responsibilities. I’m not even a permanent resident, really.”

Piper shrugged. “Suit yourself,” she said. “I nominate Danny.”

Danny shook his head. “My leadership experience amounts to getting shot at,” he said. “I ain’t taking on any more.”

“Last call before the vote,” Piper said. “Nominations?”

Hearing none, she rattled off the names of the nominees and counted the raised hands, while Murphy jotted down the numbers. After some consternation over whether or not Miss Edna could vote, Murphy read out the results.

“Becky Fallon with 22 votes, Arturo Rodriguez with 16 votes, Nick Valentine with 16 votes, Sheffield with three votes,” she said. “Looks like we have a tie for second place.”

“I concede,” said Arturo happily. Valentine blinked, stunned, and Ellie clapped him on the back. Myrna groaned loudly, and Ann Codman stood up and dragged her husband off in a huff.

“Becky, Nick, meet with the rest of the council in the mayor’s office at six,” Piper blared over the megaphone. “Everyone else, go back to your lives. Get the full story on McDonough, the vote and tonight’s meeting in this week’s Publick Occurrences. See Nat on your way out about delivery.”

The crowd shuffled out, residents earnestly talking to each other about the day’s excitement.

“I think that went well,” Piper said breathlessly. She turned to Murphy. “Too bad you’re too busy, I definitely would have voted for you.”

“Thanks,” Murphy said. “But I meant it. I’m already sort of the mayor for eight other towns, too.”

“Well look at you, Blue,” Piper said, playfully punching her arm. “You’ve been keeping busy. Say, speaking of busy, you feel like giving me the exclusive on how you took down the Institute sometime later today?”

“Aw, Piper, give me a chance to breathe,” Murphy chuckled. “I’ve only been here a few hours and we’ve already saved Danny’s life, killed the mayor and reinstated the city council.”

Piper shrugged. “Well, you’re at least going to come with me to the meeting tonight, right?” she asked.

“Of course,” Murphy said. “I’m sure the Minutemen would love to have me there to weigh in on possible security partnerships and trade routes anyway.”

“Hate to cut in, ladies, but I should probably get some guys together to go dispose of the fake mayor,” Danny said. “Thanks again, for… well, everything.”

“Happy to help, Danny,” Piper replied. “Just don’t shut the gate on me ever again and we’ll call it even.”

Danny smiled and left with his supporting security guard, heading toward the old dugout that now housed the security offices.

“Back to my house for a drink?” Murphy suggested.

“Actually, I should probably get cracking on my story about McDonough,” Piper said. “News never sleeps and all that.”

“Come on,” Murphy pleaded. “I haven’t seen you in forever and I have a case of Nuka-Cola I’ve been saving for a special occasion.”

She grabbed Piper’s hand and led her off the stage, glancing around to make sure no one was close enough to hear them before she leaned in close. “Besides, there’s something a little strange about McDonough’s death I wanted to talk to you about.”

Piper’s eyes lit up. “Now you’re talking,” she said. “Do you wanna get the gang back together? Please say yes.”

Murphy smiled. “Figured we could swing by the agency and pick up everyone’s favorite detective along the way.” She strode off toward Valentine’s hole in the wall. “Hope you don’t mind, I brought a little company along when I came to town.”

“Who’d you pick up this time?”

“MacCready.”

“This day just keeps getting better and better,” Piper said with a laugh. She hefted the megaphone, admiring the red-and-white device. “I think I’ll keep this. Bet Nat would love it.”


	11. Nest of Radscorpions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Commonwealth's own Mystery Inc. ponders a puzzle.

Piper stopped Murphy from opening the door to the Valentine Detective Agency and pressed her ear to it, motioning for Murphy to join her.

“Well, I’m honored and I’m happy to know you have confidence in me, but government material? Me?” Nick Valentine was saying on the other side.

“Oh, Nick,” Ellie Perkins’ muffled voice came through. “Honestly, what more evidence do you need to see you’re a perfect fit? Everyone knows you’re brilliant, you’ve been around here longer than almost anyone and you genuinely care about the people in Diamond City.”

“I’m flattered, really,” Valentine replied. “But the idea of a synth on the council right after the mayor was outed as an Institute plant is bound to rub some people the wrong way.”

“You’ll win them over,” Ellie said. “You always do.”

“I’ve been trying to win the Codmans over for 20 years and they’re still about as welcoming as a nest of radscorpions,” Valentine said. “But more importantly, how am I supposed to work on cases if I’m attending meetings and trying to solve the latest town crisis?”

“The council only meets once a month or during emergencies, you’ll still have plenty of time to run out with Murphy or whoever looking for missing persons,” Ellie said indignantly. “She really has lightened your caseload, both directly and indirectly.”

Murphy pulled Piper back from the door and knocked. The voices stopped, and after a moment, Ellie opened the door.

“Murphy! Piper!” she said with a broad smile. “Come on in, we were just talking about you.”

“All bad things, I hope,” Piper said with a knowing smile.

“We were hoping to borrow Nick,” Murphy said quickly. “Is he free?”

“About as free as someone with a full-time job can be,” Valentine said loudly from back by his desk. He shot a pointed look at Ellie’s back.

“Right,” Murphy said. “I wanted your opinion on something, so if you want to drop by Home Plate when you’re free, I’d appreciate it.”

“Could be your next big case,” Piper said enticingly. “A missing murder weapon, dames in deathclaw-skin outfits, dancing Brotherhood Knights- It’s got it all.”

“Cute, Piper,” Valentine said. “I’ll be right over, just got to finish up some paperwork here and run a diagnostic or two.”

“Oh, you should stop back here after your chat and close out your case file,” Ellie reminded Murphy as she closed the door. “I love any opportunity to use the big ‘Case Closed’ stamp.”

Murphy nodded and she and Piper turned back toward the main alley.

“Ooooh, I can see the headlines now,” Piper said. “‘Valentine Breaks Hearts: Synth Detective Second-Guesses Council Involvement.’ Bet it would sell like sweet rolls.”

Murphy shot her an unimpressed look. “Don’t you dare, Piper.”

“I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t,” Piper said with a laugh. “He’d probably stick it out just to spite me if I even so much as mentioned him hesitating.”

“I don’t blame him for worrying about it,” Murphy said, ushering Piper past the schoolhouse toward the marketplace. “It’s a lot of responsibility, which he happens to already have a lot of. But I think he could be really great at it, if he puts his mind to it.”

“I agree,” Piper said. “I just hope you know I’ve got a duty to report on it if he flakes.”

“He won’t,” Murphy said firmly. “Now come on.”

She and Piper made their way across the marketplace, dodging the crowd outside of Swatters and Commonwealth Weaponry. Piper stopped abruptly when she caught sight of Murphy’s battered power armor.

“Whoa,” she said. “You get chewed up by a mirelurk queen?”

“Close,” Murphy replied, holding the door to her house open for the reporter. “I promise I’ll tell you all about it later.”

MacCready’s belongings littered the floor of the living room, but the mercenary himself was still in bed. Murphy could hear him softly snoring on the floor above.

“Ugh, did he move in two weeks ago? How did he generate this much of a mess so fast?” Piper asked, picking up a leather boot and holding it at arm’s length. Its twin was draped over the back of the couch, next to his one-armed duster.

“Hang on, I’ll go make sure he’s decent.” Murphy started up the stairs.

“Tell him I’ve seen cleaner yao guai dens.”

“MacCready?” Murphy called softly, peering over the top of the stairs.

His tousled head rolled into view on the edge of the bed. Bleary blue eyes met hers, and an arm flopped out of the covers, reaching for his pile of clothes.

“Damn,” MacCready mumbled. “Is it time to go already?”

“Not exactly,” Murphy said. “Piper’s here and Nick’s on his way. Get dressed.”

“Five minutes,” he grumbled.

Murphy left him to it and went back downstairs to find Piper tidying up, tossing MacCready’s things into a pile next to the couch.

“Want something to eat?” Murphy offered. “I have a box of snack cakes lying around here somewhere.”

“Not anymore,” Piper said, holding up an empty Fancy Lads box. “It became mercenary fuel.”

Murphy pulled her case of Nuka-Cola out from the back of her kitchenette cupboard and popped the caps off three, stashing the worn metal bits in her pocket. She offered one to Piper, who accepted gladly, and set the second on her coffee table before taking a swig of hers.

“Good old Nuka,” Piper said, tossing a Grognak the Barbarian comic onto MacCready’s pile before collapsing onto the couch. “Where’d you snag the case?”

“Andrew Station,” Murphy answered, picking up the Grognak comic. “I also scored a whole set of pool balls. You should really ask Nick for the details sometime.”

“Ah, ‘Lost in the Snows of Lust,’” MacCready said, descending the stairs. “Absolute classic.”

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Piper said with a wave. “Were you raised in a cave or something? It’s only noon and you’ve already trashed the base.”

“You know full well I was,” MacCready replied with a yawn. “Place looks fine to me. Where’s my stuff?”

Murphy indicated the pile at her feet. MacCready went to work stuffing things back into his pack, pulling on his coat in the process.

“So, when are we gonna have that one-on-one interview, Piper?” he asked with a cocky smile. “Thought you’d want an exclusive on what being a nine-year-old mayor in the Capital Wasteland was like. We could spend some quality time together, for once.”

“Oh, MacCready,” Piper chastised. “Never in a million years.”

He sighed dramatically. “A man can dream.”

There was a knock on the door. Murphy opened it, and Valentine swept in with a surly look on his face.

“So Mayor McDonough’s term ends with a bang,” he said. “And here we are, as usual, picking up the pieces.”

MacCready straightened up. “Did I miss something?”

“McDonough was a synth, he shot Danny Sullivan, Murphy put a few plasma blasts in him and now the city’s going back under council jurisdiction,” Piper said. “You slept through some stuff.”

MacCready looked at each of them in disbelief.

“Well, I never liked the guy. There was always something a little bit off about him,” he admitted. “But no one thought to wake me up?”

“There wasn’t exactly time,” Murphy said. “I was on the roof and I heard the shots. Didn’t use the door on the way out.”

“Oh, and Nick’s on the council now,” Piper said, leaning back into the couch with a grin.

“Don’t remind me,” Valentine said crossly. “Now, Murphy, why are we here?”

“Right,” Murphy said with a nod. She crossed over to the door and locked it, before turning back to the three. “Make yourselves comfortable, I’ve got some thoughts I need to throw around.”

MacCready sank into the couch next to Piper and grabbed his Nuka-Cola. Valentine gave her a quizzical look and pulled up an armchair. Murphy sat on the floor cross-legged and faced the three of them, and Piper pulled a paper pad and pencil out of her coat, ready to take notes.

“Piper,” Murphy said. “You were first on the scene. What were you doing this morning?”

“Oh good, I love an interrogation,” Piper said. “I knew Cricket was coming by this morning, so I got up early to go see if I could exchange my old 10-millimeter for something with a little more kick. Said hi to Danny on the way out, the usual, haggled with that weird little pyromaniac for a bit and was just about to close a deal when I heard gunshots.

“So I ran back in and saw Danny wasn’t at his desk like normal. It sounded like it came from up top, so I called the elevator and took it up, and I step out just in time to see one of those metal frame synths disappear in a blue energy flash, and McDonough slamming the doors shut on his office.”

“Hold it,” Valentine said. “You saw the synth relay out of there?”

“Yeah,” Piper said. “It barely had time to look at me before it disappeared. Guess it had somewhere to be.”

MacCready and Murphy looked at each other.

“But… where?” Murphy asked.

Piper’s eyes widened and she started scribbling wildly on her notepad. “You’re right,” she said excitedly. “If you blew up the Institute… where did it go?”

“And where did it come from?” Valentine said, leaning forward in his chair. “Most importantly, who sent it? Even if someone, or several someones, made it out of the Institute okay, I doubt the first thing on their minds would be sending Gen 1 synths to check up on their planted informants.”

“Danny said the synth was telling McDonough that his services weren’t needed anymore,” Murphy said. “Is there any chance it could’ve been a programmed task that the synth carried out, even after the Institute was destroyed and it was pointless?”

Valentine considered it before shaking his head. “I suppose it’s possible, but that still doesn’t explain the relay,” he said. “Unless those scientists had mobile teleportation capabilities up their sleeves the whole time and we didn’t know it.”

“Last I checked, the molecular relay was still a huge, stationary piece of equipment,” Murphy said. “It could call you into the Institute and send you out to anywhere you wanted, but it acted as a permanent third-party exchange. Coursers that wanted to get from Quincy to Concord were either stuck walking or had to beam back into the Institute before beaming out again.”

“So it’s 100 percent kaput now,” MacCready said with certainty, crossing his arms. “Meaning there’s another one out there.”

“‘The Rabbit Hole Deepens: Second Institute Location Possible,’” Piper muttered to herself.

Valentine gave her a disapproving look. “How about we keep this to ourselves for now and prevent a panic,” he said reproachfully. “I’d like to not have to lock my door at night.”

“Yes,” Murphy agreed quickly. “None of this leaves this room. Not a word.”

“Folks will start drawing the same conclusion eventually,” Piper protested. “They’re not stupid. Well, not all of them.”

“Which is why Nick is going to focus on addressing the lapse in security this city suffered under Mayor McDonough’s leadership over the past few years at the meeting tonight,” Murphy said.

“I am?” the detective asked, surprised. “There seem to be a lot of decisions being made lately about what I should be doing without me having any input on the matter.”

“Only if you’re comfortable with it,” Murphy offered. “I can always go see if Arturo’s still free if you’d rather not be involved.”

“Well I can’t back out _now,_ ” Valentine said. “Ellie would never let me hear the end of it.”

“Last chance,” Piper said with a smirk.

“Don’t push your luck, doll,” Valentine replied. “If it’ll help, I’ll bring it up. Security was on my list of concerns about the city anyway.”


	12. The Latest Hullabaloo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which parliamentary procedure makes a triumphant return to the post-apocalyptic wasteland.

The Diamond City council convened in the former mayor’s office around a pair of folding tables, at the head of which sat Geneva with a full clipboard and, to Murphy’s surprise, a hardcover copy of Robert’s Rules of Order that looked like it had spent at least one of the last two centuries buried in a mole rat den. MacCready had declined Murphy’s invite to attend the meeting and had gone to the Dugout Inn instead to catch up with Vadim and Yefim, so she and Piper took seats in the front row of the small cluster of folding chairs Geneva had set up for spectators.

Only a few others had turned up to watch the meeting, Murphy noted. Clarence Codman had taken a seat in the middle, clearly there only because his wife had insisted. Hawthorne fidgeted in the seat behind him, but gave Murphy and Piper a smile when they caught his eye. Next to him sat Danny Sullivan, who was staring at the floor and rubbing his left arm absentmindedly. It looked fully healed from its dislocation, though Murphy knew it would be a while before he could do anything strenuous with it.

Nick Valentine had arrived early and taken a seat next to Hawthorne’s grandmother Eustace. Ann Codman faced him with a look of disdain, flanked on either side by Malcom Latimer and Becky Fallon.

“This is so exciting!” Piper whispered enthusiastically to Murphy. “There hasn’t been a city council meeting since the year Nat and I moved here. They banned me not long after the bookcase article and then McDonough disbanded them.”

“It’s weird,” Murphy whispered back. “I went to a few city council meetings back before the war and this is almost exactly the way they looked then, too. Except there were usually donuts.”

“Next time we can raid a Slocum’s Joe or something.”

Geneva cleared her throat loudly and banged an empty cup on the council table. “I call this meeting to order,” she said, before calling the roll and marking down attendance.

“Now,” she went on. “It’s been a few years since the last council meeting, so the only minutes available were on this entry in the mayor’s terminal. Dated June 2, 2284: The city council meetings are suspended for the meantime until there is an emergency. The council expresses full confidence in the mayor's ability to handle all city business.”

“That worked out well,” Latimer said.

“Order,” Geneva said, banging her cup again. “It’s been a long day and we’ve got a lot to get through.”

She flipped through her clipboard papers and settled on a numbered list. “First order of business: Standing orders. The… previous mayor had a set of instructions for each of the organizations and institutions within the city and their primary focus and objectives. The school curriculum, the Science! Center’s city-sanctioned research projects, the security guards’ routines and enforceable offenses, even my list of responsibilities. I am sure the council members will want to review these before suggesting and taking any action on possible changes, so I’ll make them available for you in this office during the next month and make copies for those who want them.”

“Cut to the chase, Geneva,” Ann Codman said. “What we need to talk about is electing a new mayor.”

“That’s item number five,” Geneva said with a frown. “Ann, if we just-”

“I’m sure the council will agree that you can sit in as a temporary replacement until the election cycle has run its course,” Ann said with a wave of her hand. Geneva’s expression lightened considerably, and Piper scribbled furiously on her notepad.

“Hold on,” Valentine said. “We can’t just skip to the parts you want to talk about, Ann. Get through the list before-”

“No, it’s quite fine, we can amend the agenda,” Geneva said sharply. “Those in favor of moving up number five to the beginning?”

Ann, Becky and Latimer raised their hands.

“Motion passes,” Geneva said, marking it down. “Now, traditionally, the city has opened the campaign registration window for a month before a three-month-long race period. Voting takes place on the final day of campaigning, after at least two public debates between candidates have taken place, though more are allowed if candidates are agreeable to it.”

“Perfect,” Latimer said. “Get it out of the way sooner rather than later and we can all get back to our lives.”

“Just because we elect someone doesn’t mean you can go back to cheating at cards in the Taphouse on Mondays, Malcom,” Eustace said. “I think it’s safer for now to keep the council convened to keep an eye on everything.”

“Agreed,” Becky said.

Valentine nodded. “Not that I want to postpone the search, but are you sure the people of Diamond City are ready to make a decision like that so soon after the last mayor was exposed as a fraud?”

“What choice do we have?” Becky said curtly. “It’s not like we can meet every day to talk about the latest hullabaloo in the market or the rising price of razorgrain. We need someone who’s willing to tackle the job full-time.”

“I’ll make a motion to immediately open registration for mayoral candidates, to be followed by campaign season,” Ann said. “In coordination with Geneva acting as interim mayor.”

“I’m honored,” Geneva said. “Those in favor?”

Everyone at the table raised their hands, though Valentine raised his somewhat reluctantly.

“Perfect,” Piper muttered next to Murphy. “This is going to be huge.”

“Sorry to butt in, but can we talk security?” Danny said from the back of the seating area. “Our last mayor was replaced by a synth, and I’d like to know when that happened and why no one caught it.”

“I’m in favor of that,” Valentine said. “I have some security questions myself.”

“That is next on the list,” Geneva said. “Danny, if you would approach the table?”

Danny stood and moved up next to where Murphy and Piper were sitting. “If the council’s okay with it, I’d like to increase patrols, see if we can’t close up the gaps in our defense. And I know McDonough kind of made it off-limits, but I’d like to authorize the investigation of missing persons cases again, maybe work something out with Nick here and see if we can’t bring some closure to folks who have missing family members.”

Becky nodded enthusiastically and Valentine gave Danny a broad smile, but Geneva shook her head. “Danny, you know as well as I that we’re stretched thin as it is with patrols outside the wall and guards working extra shifts,” she said. “Where are you going to get the numbers?”

“We could raise pay and do some recruiting,” Becky suggested.

“We’d have to raise taxes,” Eustace said.

“Absolutely not,” Ann said. “My business would never survive.”

“Oh, can it, Ann,” Eustace said. “Your family will be swimming in caps until the day it expires.”

“Order!” Geneva interjected, banging her cup so hard the table wobbled.

Murphy cleared her throat. “Um, maybe I can help,” she said.

“Oh, of course,” Ann snapped. “By all means, _General,_ tell us what to do. God knows we need _your_ input.”

“What did you have in mind?” Danny asked.

“Well, I know Preston’s been wanting to set up a base here in town for the Minutemen to use when they’re passing through,” Murphy said. “He already talked a bit with Arturo and Doctor Sun about supplies and medical services. With the council’s permission, we could make it a reality and set up a barracks. We’d be more than happy to contribute to patrol shifts if you need us.”

“A barracks?” Latimer said incredulously. “Where on earth are you going to house a bunch of Minutemen?”

Murphy shrugged. “Preston was hoping to use my house, but I thought maybe we could kill two birds with one stone and put them in the abandoned house in the west stands.”

“That old dump?” Danny said, surprised. “You sure?”

“I can fix it up,” Murphy offered. “Make it presentable again.”

“Might as well put that place to good use,” Valentine said. “I make a motion we partner with the Minutemen for security purposes in exchange for the house and its contents, as well as authorize Danny's recommendations.”

“Those in favor?” Geneva asked. Everyone except Latimer raised their hands.

“Unsurprising,” Piper whispered to Murphy. “What with his connections to the Triggermen.”

“Motion passes,” Geneva said.

“Guess I’d better get a message over to Preston,” Murphy said. “See if he can’t send some of the new recruits my way.”

She stood up. “Come on Danny,” she said. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

Danny looked confused. “What’s a popsicle stand?”

“Never mind,” Murphy said, and made her way to the elevator with him trailing behind, leaving the council to its business.


	13. Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Murphy demolishes a wall.

“Thanks, Cricket!” Murphy called as she and Danny Sullivan waved to the caravan making its way into the ruins. “Make sure you don’t lose that note!”

“Sure, sure, sure,” Cricket’s voice echoed off the walls of the ruins. “Hang onto it, hand it to one of the guys with the laser muskets and the cowboy hats. You got it.”

Murphy turned and walked back into Diamond City with Danny. “Glad we caught her before she left,” she said. “We should see some Minutemen coming our way by next week, if she doesn’t hook around on her route back to Bunker Hill.”

“Thanks again,” Danny replied. “You gonna head back up to the meeting?”

“Nah, I think I’m bureaucracy-ed out for the day,” Murphy said. “Might head over to the Dugout, see what MacCready’s up to.”

“Lucky,” Danny muttered. He left her in favor of taking the elevator back up to the mayor’s office.

Murphy paused when she reached the top of the stairs that led down to center field. The neon signs were blinking to life at each of the market shops, the string lights of the Power Noodles stand were dancing merrily around city residents in search of supper, and children were chasing each other over the worn, wooden pallets that made up most of the city’s footpaths. As she watched, the huge field lights powered up, illuminating Diamond City in a fluorescent glow ripped straight from the 21st century.

Murphy sighed and leaned against the green railing. She had never been much of a baseball fan, but she thought the Red Sox fans from her time would have been somewhat proud to see the little oasis of life their beloved home now sheltered.

 _Beautiful,_ she heard a familiar voice say.

And he was there, sitting on the concrete step next to her: Staring, not at the city, but at her.

Murphy whipped her head around. Seeing no one within listening distance, she lowered herself to sit next to Nate. Impossible Nate.

“How… how are you here?” she whispered. “You’re gone.”

Nate met her questioning blue eyes with his own. Seeing her disbelief and hesitancy, he grinned, and Murphy’s breath caught in her throat. The wave of walnut-colored hair, the worry lines on his forehead, the short, cinnamon-colored beard… if this was an implanted memory, it was nailing every expression, every facial feature, every _breath_ of her late husband.

 _I guess because I need to be,_ the apparition said. Its lips didn’t move, but Murphy heard Nate’s voice, clear as day. _Because you need me to be._

She shook her head. “No. I mean, yes, I… god, I want you to be here. But you’re not really here. You’re… you’re dead.”

He frowned. _Yes._

“And,” Murphy struggled, tears forming to obscure her vision, this vision. “And if you’re still here after that, that means I’m… I’m not okay.”

Nate nodded. _Yes._

Murphy looked at the concrete beneath her feet. “I need to be okay,” she whispered. “Everyone needs me to be okay.”

She was startled to feel a hand gently grip her shoulder. Wiping her tears away, she turned to find a security officer in his umpire pads and helmet.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” he asked.

Murphy looked at the concrete next to her. Nate had disappeared again. “I’m… I’m fine,” she said. “Just feeling a little overwhelmed.”

“Hey, I don’t blame you,” the guard said, helping her up. “Spend all day shooting synths, blowing up the Institute, and then you come back here and kill their fake mayor.”

He shook his head in admiration. “I wish I had your life.”

Murphy shrugged him off and stalked off toward the marketplace. “Thanks,” she said over her shoulder. She could feel the tears starting up again.

 

* * *

 

 

Nick Valentine found her hours later, taking a sledgehammer to the false wall in Kellogg’s old house. The old synth leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed, taking in the woman furiously swinging at the rusted-out panels that used to conceal a storage room for the Institute mercenary’s collection of firearms.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked her, a wry smile on his face. “Me neither.”

Murphy gave him the ghost of a smile before turning back to her task. The clothes Hancock had loaned her were covered in dust and her silver-white ponytail was plastered to the back of her neck, but she beat at the wall relentlessly, piece by piece disassembling the house’s secret.

“The guards were talking about some noises coming from the west stands, so I figured I’d check it out before you got slapped with a fine,” Valentine went on. “Murphy, it’s nearly midnight. You need rest and so do the rest of Diamond City’s residents. Remodeling can wait.”

“I’ll be done in a few minutes,” Murphy said firmly. She tossed the hammer aside and pried the dangling panel off of its track with an ominous creaking sound, depositing it on the debris pile with a grunt and a puff of rust particles. “How did the rest of your meeting go?”

Valentine rolled his golden eyes. “About the way I expected,” he said. “Ann tried to ban Piper from meetings again, but Becky and Eustace and I voted her down. Then we spent a good 20 minutes arguing about whether or not we should start conducting mandatory entry interviews to figure out whether or not city visitors are synths. Supposedly there’s a town up north that does something similar, but no one’s heard from them for some time and we have no idea what sort of questions would out someone.”

“Covenant,” Murphy said, wiping her hands. “I’ve been through. They call it the SAFE test.”

“Does it work?” Valentine asked.

“I passed,” Murphy said bitterly. “Friend of mine didn’t. They didn’t respond well to it and I don’t think I’m welcome back.”

“Ah, the old shoot first, ask questions later strategy,” Valentine said. “Can’t say it’d be any different if we went about implementing it here. Anyway, no one could agree on what to do so it’s nothing to worry about for a while.”

He bent down to pick up a stray panel screw, tossing it lightly in his metal hand. “I can’t say I didn’t enjoy getting to have some input on what the city should be doing, but it’s one of those big mysteries with hundreds of moving parts that never really gets solved. The real Nick Valentine wasn’t one to jump into politics and I’m not sure yet if I’m inclined to either.”

“Then don’t,” Murphy said. She picked up the sledgehammer and pushed past him, out into the night.

“Hey,” he said indignantly. “No inspirational lecture on why I’m perfect for the job and the people of Diamond City need me? No manners? You feeling okay?”

“Weren’t you just telling me to go to bed?” Murphy said, turning to face him.

Valentine squinted at her. His eyes widened in realization.

“You’ve been crying,” he said.

Murphy rubbed some dust from her nose and sniffed. “I have.”

“Is this about what Ann said to you in the meeting?”

Murphy laughed. “I’m not a teenager, Nick,” she said. “Criticism and insults are old friends at this point. I saw Nate again.”

She set the hammer down next to her and sighed. “It’s worse than before,” she said. “The last two were just quick flashes, a phrase. I had a _conversation_ with him tonight, Nick. I’m losing it.”

“Hey, hey kid,” Valentine said, moving to her side. He put an arm around her and she gladly sank against him, exhausted. “It’s gonna be okay. What did he say?”

“He said he needed to be here because I needed him here,” Murphy murmured into his trenchcoat. “Whatever that means.”

Valentine nodded. “Sounds organic,” he said. “Could be your brain telling you you’re having trouble coping with the stress it’s under, the decisions you have to make. So far it sounds harmless, but if you don’t address it, it won’t be.”

He looked down at her, his eyes kind but worried. “We need to get you to a head doctor.”

Murphy grimaced. “There’s one option I know of, but you’re not gonna like it.”


	14. The Hard Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Murphy goes in for a check-up.

“Feeling any after-effects from the Institute explosion?” Knight-Captain Cade asked Murphy as he gently probed the new scar tissue on her leg. “It pushed a ton of radioactive particles into the air… well, more than usual, anyway. I’m looking for symptoms like blurred vision, memory loss, shortness of breath… anything you’d consider serious.”

“I told you,” Murphy said, shifting a bit on her stool. “Physically, I’m fine, aside from the laser blast. But thanks for asking, doc.”

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be doing my job,” Cade said, satisfied. “You did a hell of a job out there, you know. Everyone aboard is talking about it.”

“I’m sure,” Murphy said, meeting the eyes of a few curious Scribes who were hanging around the med bay whispering to each other. She shot them an unimpressed look and they scooted off toward the mess hall.

“Working with the Minutemen to destroy the Institute may not have been the Brotherhood way, but it was still the right thing to do,” Cade said, straightening up to check off a few boxes on his duty clearance list. “Now, can you describe these hallucinations you’re having?”

He listened attentively as Murphy described her experiences, asking an occasional question about “olfactory sensations” and whether or not her family had a history of schizophrenia.

“It sounds like a possible case of post-traumatic stress disorder with positive psychotic symptoms,” he said when Murphy had finished. “Rather common in Knights and Lancers, I’m afraid. Really, it’s a wonder you haven’t developed symptoms before this point, given your case history.”

Murphy gave a hollow laugh. “It’s a wonder I’m not dead,” she said. “I stopped questioning my circumstances a while ago.”

“Yes, well, you have a few options,” Cade said, turning to rifle through his file cabinet. He extracted a worn manila folder labeled “PTSD Patients,” and handed Murphy a short list from within labeled “Treatments.”

“Now, the first and most common treatment choice among my patients is medication,” he went on as Murphy read. “We can put you on an antidepressant regimen and a schedule of check-ups to assess how you’re reacting to them. I must warn you, though, the pills can make you a bit… unresponsive.”

Murphy cocked an eyebrow at him. “Unresponsive?”

“They should lessen or remove your symptoms, but I’ve observed a personality change in some who take them,” Cade explained. “Side effects range from an inability to focus on tasks to a complete shutdown of empathy.”

“Yikes,” Murphy said. “Maybe we’ll come back to that one.”

“Of course,” Cade said. “You might also consider treatment that provides more permanent results, such as VRE: Virtual reality exposure therapy.”

“Exposure to what, exactly?” Murphy asked. “Assuming my trauma stems from the death of my husband and the death of my… the Institute.”

“Well, think about why those losses were traumatic,” Cade replied. “Both represent a loss of an intimate relationship, between a husband and wife, or between a mother and her son. Both have unfulfilled futures attached, unfulfilled potential. In the case of your husband, there’s a feeling of helplessness, I would assume, and somewhat of a similar situation with your son, though given his relationship to the Institute, that trauma also comes with the attached feeling of responsibility for the destruction of… well, an entire people. An institution.”

He put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s a lot to unpack, and it would take several sessions, but the exposure therapy has a far higher success rate than simply medicating. Plus, you can do it in a machine similar to a memory lounger.”

Murphy nodded, a little stunned at how quickly Cade had broken down some of her internal conflict. “What’s the next one?” she asked. “Acceptance and commitment therapy?”

“The hard way,” Cade said with a chuckle. “Basically, you work through it. You find a willing sponsor within the Brotherhood and you meet weekly with them to discuss your symptoms, your feelings, your history. There’s a whole protocol, a personalized checklist and core principle education, involved in it. We don’t have dedicated psychologists in the Brotherhood, so it may be your best bet for face-to-face therapy, if that’s your cup of tea.”

He pointed to the final listed item. “We often insist it be paired with behavioral activation, which requires the patient participate in activities that they find ‘stimulating and rewarding.’ Obviously, active duty tours and Brotherhood-sanctioned missions are out, but there are always plenty of other assignments.”

“How does that one stack up against VRE?”

Cade rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It depends on the individual’s dedication, their choice in sponsor and the amount of time put into recovery, but results are fairly comparable in permanence and resolution. It definitely would take the longest, which is why it isn’t popular.”

“Figures,” Murphy said. “Brotherhood Knights cut corners on everything from gun maintenance to paperwork. Why not their mental health?”

“You’re telling me,” Cade agreed, shaking his head. “The number of lacerations I’ve stitched up only to see them ripped open less than a week later because someone didn’t follow their care instructions is almost enough to make me ask for a department transfer.”

He leaned on his desk and crossed his arms. “So, do you have a preference or do you want some time to think about it? I need to put something in your case file, either way.”

Murphy furrowed her brow and studied the list. “Let’s shelve the chems for now, but I might revisit them if it gets worse. Like, life-threateningly worse.”

Cade nodded. “Maybe a wise choice, in your line of work,” he said. “But that only leaves two options really. Well, actually, one.”

“Care to elaborate?” Murphy asked, brushing her white hair out of her face.

“I should have mentioned that the Prydwen doesn’t have VRE capabilities currently,” Cade said. “About four years ago, when Elder Maxson brokered a peace with the former Outcasts in the Capital Wasteland and brought them back into the fold, they handed over control of a pre-war facility called Virtual Strategic Solutions. Along with selling combat training and battle simulation programs for modified memory loungers to the military, the company was also testing and implementing treatment simulations for war veterans with PTSD and other mental breaks. Maxson had the tech taken to be tested at the Citadel, and it’s worked wonders for many of our brothers and sisters.”

“Wonders the Commonwealth didn’t deserve?” Murphy said skeptically.

“More like wonders the Prydwen couldn’t carry,” Cade replied. “When we set sail for the Commonwealth, we packed essentials only, leaving room to spare for tech recovered while abroad. It’s hard to justify bringing a memory lounger and all the servers attached to it when bottles of pills and regular conversation weigh so much less.”

“I guess that leaves good, old-fashioned therapy,” Murphy said with a sigh. “How does this work, do I have to find someone I know? Or don’t know? Scribe Haylen might be up for it, or Knight Lucia. Proctor Ingram would probably assume I’d just screwed my power armor helmet on too tight.”

She looked up at Cade in curiosity. “I don’t suppose you’d sponsor me?” she asked.

He smiled. “I’d be honored, but there’s a catch to acceptance and commitment therapy. Your sponsor must be the same Brotherhood rank as you or higher, for confidentiality and security clearance purposes.”

Murphy blinked in confusion. “I’m a Paladin,” she said. “I’m the _only_ Paladin.”

“You’re not,” Cade corrected. “Paladin Brandis retained his rank, despite his long absence. But he’s ineligible for sponsorship as he’s being treated for his own imbalances.”

Murphy rolled the pant leg of her black officer flight suit back down and tucked it into her boot. “Who does that leave?” she asked. “Lancer-Captain Kells?”

“Lancer-Captain may be the highest ranking for our aerial forces, but technically you outrank him, too,” Cade said. “There’s only one person on this vessel who holds a higher rank than you, and you have a debriefing with him this evening.”

Murphy swallowed. Maybe coming back to the Prydwen had been a mistake.


	15. The Next Box to Check

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a cat appears.

Murphy decided to ponder her luck in the mess hall until the inevitable meeting with Elder Maxson, where she was greeted with a mix of stares and cheers. She waved half-heartedly at the cheering Knights and Scribes playing cards in the corner and took a seat at the end of the bar. The mess hall attendant, a young Scribe Initiate with a head as bald as Hancock’s, popped open a bottle of Gwinnett Stout and set it down in front of her.

“On the house,” he said. “You earned it.”

Murphy accepted the beer with a weak smile and took a sip before resting her head in her hands. She was beginning to regret leaving MacCready at the Cambridge Police Station with Scribe Haylen.

 

* * *

 

Murphy and MacCready had left the ruins of Boston a few days after the council meeting, refreshed and restocked. Piper and Nick Valentine bid them adieu at the Diamond City gate, Piper with a grin as wide as the Charles and Valentine with a grimace of disapproval.

“Don’t let them rope you into anything you don’t want to do,” he called after them as they picked their way around the burned-out cars and cracked asphalt.

“Write me an op-ed if you get bored!” Piper suggested.

The walk to Cambridge had been uneventful, which Murphy was thankful for. Though, as she and her mercenary had skirted the outside of the water-filled crater that had previously been the ruins of C.I.T., it became very apparent to her that she mostly had herself to thank for the eerie silence.

Haylen had greeted her at the gates of the Brotherhood’s police station base when they arrived at dusk, sweeping her into a hug with an excited cry of disbelief.

“You did it!” she said breathlessly when she finally released Murphy. “You really did it!”

She caught sight of MacCready and crushed him with a hug too, much to his surprise.

“I could kiss you two!” she exclaimed when she had finished, holding her hands to her heart. “It’s finally over!”

“Don’t let me stop you,” MacCready said with a smirk.

Haylen ignored him and turned to Murphy. “So, is this the end of the road for you… or are you going to stick around?” she asked hesitantly.

“I would never leave,” Murphy assured her.

“Good, we would all miss you around here,” Haylen replied with a relieved smile. She led the two of them a little ways outside the station barricades and lowered her voice. “Look, I never really had a chance to thank you for sparing Danse. I know I asked you to hear him out, but I wasn’t sure you’d really go through with it.”

MacCready grinned. “How is our favorite tin can doing?”

Haylen rolled her eyes. “I’ve visited him a few times at the bunker. He really seems to be doing well. Well, it’s hard to tell when he’s happy, but you get what I mean.”

“You’ve gone out there?” Murphy asked, surprised.

“Danse is isolated,” Haylen replied. “He doesn’t have much in the way of supplies or ammunition, so I bring him whatever he needs. And when he isn’t partnered up with you, I think he needs someone else to spend time with.”

She caught the look of concern on Murphy’s face. “Don’t worry, I’m not implying you’re neglecting him out there,” she said quickly. “By defying Maxson’s orders, you’ve already done more than enough.”

Murphy smiled. “I don’t have any regrets,” she said. “I made the right choice.”

Haylen nodded. “Absolutely.”

MacCready nudged Murphy’s arm. “Patrol,” he warned.

Haylen glanced back toward the police station, then caught Murphy’s hand in her own. “I knew there was something special about you when you stumbled into our compound and helped us take down those ferals,” she said, almost whispering. “And everything you’ve done since then for Danse, for the Brotherhood… even for yourself… has proved me right.”

Murphy pulled the Scribe in for another hug. “I really appreciate it Haylen,” she said. “I couldn’t have found myself where I am without your help. And Danse’s.”

MacCready hissed, and the two women broke apart and walked back to the station’s lit entrance, past a Knight in full power armor on watch. “I hate to roll back into town with another mission, but I need your help,” Murphy said, holding the heavy door open for the other two. “And a ride.”

 

* * *

 

Murphy continued to sip at her Gwinnett Stout, contemplating the possible results of the energy reading watch she had tasked Haylen with after she swore her to secrecy. The Brotherhood had ceased monitoring high-band frequencies after the destruction of the Institute in favor of tracking down rogue bands of synths, but Haylen still had all of her radio equipment and was more than happy to do a little side work. Murphy had left MacCready and Haylen at the recreation terminal, chattering away about the state of the Capital Wasteland over a game of Grognak and the Ruby Ruins, while she boarded a vertibird and made her way back to Boston Airport and the pride of the Brotherhood fleet.

The giant airship just wasn’t the same place without Danse on it, and Murphy could feel the disapproval of her presence from some of those on the vessel boring into her back. While the devout brothers and sisters on board had welcomed her with open arms after her return from Listening Post Bravo, sworn to silence by Maxson with Danse’s holotags in hand and frustrated tears on her face, she wasn’t deaf to the whispers from many of the newer recruits. _Mentor-killer,_ they called her when they thought she was out of earshot. _Betrayer._

It was part of the reason she had gone AWOL after being promoted to Paladin. Part of the reason she had thrown her full support behind the Minutemen, and part of the reason she dreaded speaking to Elder Maxson again. 

Murphy tipped the beer back and finished it in a long, satisfied swallow. That, and the fact that she knew what the next box to check on the Brotherhood’s list for Commonwealth superiority would be.

All of this hadn't helped the spread of rumors and off-hand comments about her loyalties. Brotherhood soldiers she encountered now were more likely to avoid her than go out of their way to speak to her, like they had in her early days with Paladin Danse at her side.

She was startled out of her thoughts by Proctor Quinlan’s cat, Emmett, jumping up in front of her on the counter. The feline was closely followed by Paladin Brandis.

“I never did like this rust bucket,” he said roughly, taking the bar stool next to her.

“Would you prefer that bunker I found you in?” Murphy said with a smile. “Seemed a bit cozy, compared to this behemoth.”

“Oh, sure, the Prydwen’s a fine ship,” he admitted. “But put me in the field any day. Beats standing around, waiting to get blown out of the sky.”

Murphy gestured at the mess hall attendant and threw a few caps down on the counter. He brought over two more Gwinnett Stouts, and Brandis threw his back with gusto. Murphy noticed he had cleaned up quite a bit since his return from the wilderness: Her fellow Paladin was sporting a new haircut, a black flight suit that matched hers and a well-trimmed, gray beard.

“You know something I don’t?” she joked.

Brandis wiped his mouth and chuckled. “Lots of things,” he said. “Over three years in the Commonwealth by yourself, you pick up some wisdom.”

Murphy reached out to stroke Emmett, who purred enthusiastically and pushed his gray, tabby face into her hand. “Any advice for a woman who can’t seem to stop attracting trouble?”

He smiled. “Only way to stop finding trouble is to stop looking,” he replied. “Not what you want to hear, but there it is.”

“It’s not that I’m looking for it,” Murphy said, peering inside her beer bottle at the bubbles within. “If you start to care about someone or something, you take on all of their problems. Before all of this, I used to help solve problems for a living, and now I can’t seem to stop doing it.”

She sighed and took a swig of beer. “You start caring about the Commonwealth, and that’s a whole load of problems.”

Brandis set his empty bottle down and pointed a finger at her. “Paladin, you can’t solve anyone else’s problems or troubles until you solve your own. Now, if you know what your troubles are, and how to solve them, you best get to it.”

Emmett purred into Murphy’s hand, and she stroked his arched back. “Even if it means working with someone you don’t completely trust?” she asked.

Brandis smiled. “Definitely a risk,” he replied. “But it worked out for me.”


	16. Holdout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maxson makes Murphy an offer.

Murphy took a deep breath before she knocked on the Elder’s door. The airship had quieted considerably in the evening hours, and the sound of her knuckles against the metal echoed into the ladder well behind her.

The door swung open, and Elder Arthur Maxson ushered her into his quarters wordlessly, his gaze fixed on a clipboard in his hand loaded with papers. Murphy inched past him and took a seat in one of the green, plastic chairs around his work table. More clipboards with reports littered it, and the ashtray was full of cigar butts. Whatever he was up to, he had been at it for a while.

Murphy picked out pieces of information from the papers in front of her while Maxson shut the door and paced around to his computer terminal, engrossed in whatever she had caught him doing. The clipboard nearest her held logistics division delivery receipts from someplace called Mahkra Fishpacking. Most of it appeared to be energy cells and Institute weaponry.

 _Found yourselves a holdout of synths, did you?_ Murphy thought to herself. She tilted her head slightly to skim a few more. What looked like the personal file of Paladin Brandis was slightly buried under a list of new recruits and a list of Aspirants recommended for promotion. Farthest from her was what appeared to be a transcript of a message from the Citadel.

 _… following completion of the primary mission in the Commonwealth. Pre-war sources indicate activation in Mass Fusion tower downtown prior to 10-23-2077. Recommend housing inside Prime during transport for safety…_ Murphy managed to read before Maxson swept aside the clipboards and ashtray.

Maxson set down his own clipboard and grabbed a couple of glasses and a dusty bottle from the cabinet behind him. He poured himself a glass of whiskey and set the bottle down within Murphy’s reach.

“Paladin Murphy,” he said, fixing her in his stormy blue gaze. “I’m pleased you’ve returned.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Murphy replied, crossing her arms. Maxson’s affect had never impressed her as much as the rest of the Brotherhood. She didn’t doubt his dedication to his cause, but she had challenged his reasoning at every turn earlier in her service, much to Danse’s chagrin. To her, 20 years old was still far too young to be the leader of a military power, and Maxson still had a very black-and-white view of a world with increasingly varied shades of gray within it.

“Forgive me for being unprepared, I was catching myself up on the contents of your service file,” Maxson said, indicating the clipboard he had been so intent on studying. “There are some significant gaps I’d like to fill in, but I trust you’re prepared to give a full report.”

“Actually, I came back to ask for medical help,” Murphy said. “Knight-Captain Cade gave me his prognosis and directed me to you.”

“I have read the Knight-Captain’s report,” Maxson grumbled. “You are aware that, as part of your duties as a Paladin, you are required to submit regular reports for your upcoming, ongoing and completed combat missions?”

“I am.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Then would you care to explain why you failed to inform me or any of the other officers on board of your intent to infiltrate, assault and destroy the Institute?”

“I would not,” Murphy said, fixing him with a stormy look of her own. “Especially given how I was not acting in my capacity as Paladin during all of that.”

Maxson ran a hand through his dark brown hair and drained his glass before pouring another.

Murphy smirked. “Better slow down, Elder,” she advised. “I expect you mean to draw this out as long as you can.”

He studied her for a beat. “Then I suppose I had better ask which Murphy I’m speaking to,” he said finally. “Paladin Murphy, registration MY-517P, or General Murphy of the force known as the Commonwealth Minutemen?”

“That depends entirely on what you ask me,” Murphy said, leaning back in her chair.

“Paladin, you disappoint me,” Maxson said forcefully. “No sooner had you received your promotion than you disappear for a matter of months, and the next I hear of you, you’ve built a force of civilians and put all of them in harm’s way in order to accomplish a mission your brothers and sisters were much more equipped to handle. By all rights, I should have you stripped of your rank and set to scrubbing the lower decks of this vessel for the rest of your career.”

“Have you forgotten what that promotion was riding on?” Murphy spat back. “Have you forgotten the _last_ Paladin you had on board the Prydwen?”

Maxson slammed his palm on the table in anger. “You swore an oath to me, _your Elder,_ that we would never speak of him again,” he hissed with a glance at the door. “And yet you break it so easily to my face.”

“Paladin Murphy swore an oath, yes, but General Murphy made no such promise,” Murphy shot back. “Danse was my friend. He was _your_ friend.”

With a heavy sigh, Maxson covered his face in his hand. “Paladin, please,” he murmured. “Surely you can’t expect to come right back after so much has happened and start demanding I go back on my decisions and fix your problems. No matter your service record with us.”

“You demanded something similar of me,” Murphy retorted. “But I’m not stupid. Tell me what you want from me, Elder.”

“A _full report,_ ” Maxson said, jabbing a finger at the clipboard in front of him. “To start. There’s also the matter of the Minutemen and our future dealings with them, which I’m sure you’re capable of leveraging in our favor.”

“Fine,” Murphy said after some thought. “I can tell you what happened in the Institute, but I can’t promise anything in the way of negotiations with the Minutemen. I may be General, but those sort of decisions are made by a team of leaders, not one person.”

Maxson frowned. “Then I request you set up a meeting with this team and myself, along with our Proctors and officers. Within the month.”

“As long as it’s on neutral ground and you don’t bring the entire infantry along, done,” Murphy said. “Anything else?”

“If it is your intent to continue toeing the line between the Brotherhood and your other allegiances, then I feel it a necessity to refrain from assigning you to any ongoing team missions from now until I feel you can be trusted,” Maxson said. “Given Knight-Captain Cade’s additional medical report, this decision is final. You are a potential danger to your fellow soldiers.”

Murphy nodded. She had expected as much, and it wasn’t like she had been running around on errands for the Brotherhood over the last few months anyway.

“Finally, there’s the matter of the path you’ve chosen to recovery, which requires a sponsorship from an equal level or superior officer.”

“Right,” Murphy said. “A sponsor, which, by Brotherhood rules, has to be you.”

Maxson studied her in silence, a curious expression on his face. Murphy furrowed her brow and stared back at him defiantly.

“I take it you’re not pleased with this decision,” Maxson said.

“Correct.”

Maxson stood, bringing his second glass of whiskey with him. He turned away from the table to face the cabinet and sighed.

“Neither am I,” he said quietly. “It’s an antiquated practice, stemming from the current process for Brotherhood initiation. While level-based therapy sponsorship may work in a major hub, such as the Citadel, it’s woefully limited in smaller settings, like this ship.”

He turned back to face her. “Besides, I have neither the time or experience necessary to do you justice as a sponsor. Which is why I am willing to extend you a different offer.”

Murphy raised her eyebrows. _Thank god he has the sense to see it._

“First, I require your assistance in securing a piece of technology we need in order to finish construction on Liberty Prime,” Maxson went on. “Proctor Ingram has the details, so see her when you are free to begin the mission. You’ll report to me as soon as you mean to set out to secure it.”

“Is this another trek into the Glowing Sea?” Murphy asked testily. “I barely came out last time.”

“Negative,” Maxson replied. “The item we seek is located in downtown Boston.”

“How soon do you need it?”

“I’ll leave that to your discretion,” Maxson said. “We’d like it sooner rather than later, but now that you’ve removed the main reason for its acquisition, the timetable has become considerably less rushed.”

“Alright,” Murphy said. “Sweep and retrieve. Got it. What else?”

“When the Brotherhood has completely established a foothold in the Commonwealth and my presence here is no longer needed, you will accompany me and this ship when it returns to the Capital Wasteland. At the Citadel, you will be given full access to the VRE loungers, and you will share your pre-war knowledge and post-vault experiences with our Scribes for entry in the Scrolls.”

Taken aback, Murphy blinked in confusion. “When?” she asked.

“Hard to say,” Maxson said. “But soon.”

He took a sip from his glass and looked at her expectantly.

Murphy reached for the whiskey bottle and poured herself a glass. She gulped it down and stared at her hands. She had considered leaving the Commonwealth after the dust had settled, but here the option was, staring her in the face, and she didn’t know if she could take it.

“What then?” she asked. “When your Scribes are done writing my life story and the only demon rattling around my head is me. What do you expect of me?”

Maxson tugged at the lapels of his battlecoat. “No more than I’d expect from any of my other Paladins,” he said. “But I suppose you’d have a choice to make. Given the nature of your recruitment and the true identity of your Brotherhood initiation sponsor, even I couldn’t deny you that choice.”

“I…” Murphy was at a loss. She pushed her chair away from the table to rest her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands.

“You never took the Oath of Fraternity, so if you chose to leave after your treatment, you could do so in peace,” Maxson said. “However, the bond between you and your brothers and sisters would be forever severed by this decision. From that moment on, you would mean no more to us than any other civilian.”

Murphy studied the grated, metal floor beneath her. “Can I make that decision later?” she asked.

Maxson sighed. “ _‘Fear those who do not pledge to the Brotherhood,’_ ” he quoted. “ _‘For though their eyes may be opened through service, they are now blind.’_   You don’t intend to stay.”

“I don’t see what I’m helping by staying beyond the point you’re suggesting,” Murphy said, glancing up at him. She was surprised to see a trace of regret in his features. “You and I know it would have been easier if I’d never come back.”

“Undoubtedly,” Maxson said. “But as of now, you remain a sister of the Brotherhood. We’re sworn to help you.”

He set his glass down and crossed his arms. “My offer stands.”

Murphy swept her hair back and scratched at her scalp in contemplation. Maxson regarded her silently, his pained expression offering her nothing in the way of encouragement. As her thoughts roiled, a tiny beam of inspiration found its way into her decision.

“I’ll accept your offer,” she said finally. “On one condition.”


	17. Plus One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Murphy and Proctor Ingram borrow a vertibird.

Murphy wasn’t sure how long she spent in Maxson’s quarters, recounting the events of the Minutemen attack on the Institute for holotape recordings. Maxson didn’t press her, only asking the occasional question and jotting down notes as she answered. By the time he thanked her and saw her out, the lights in the mess hall and sleeping areas of the Prydwen had been dimmed or extinguished, and the regular sounds of the ship had quieted, save the occasional, thudding footsteps of a Knight in power armor on rounds and some squeaking from Senior Scribe Neriah’s collection of mole rats on the upper deck.

In the stillness, though, Murphy could make out some clanking noises and swearing coming from the power armor bay. She made her way over to the other side of the main level, snagging a stray can of Potato Crisps from the mess hall bar along the way.

Proctor Ingram was wrestling with a suit of docked power armor in Bay 4, struggling to pry an arm panel off the frame. Murphy leaned against a shelf of spare parts and watched her for a bit, munching on chips as Ingram swore profusely and hit the offending piece of metal with a wrench.

“Need some help?” Murphy offered.

Ingram turned and greeted Murphy with a smile. “My hero,” she said. “Give me a hand here, will you? Some Knight decided it was a good idea to jump off an overpass sideways and bent the panel over the frame.”

Murphy set down her chips and helped angle the sheet of metal off its catch. Ingram then popped it off easily with the added force of her own, ever-present power armor frame.

“Thanks,” Ingram said in relief. “I didn’t want to ruin the arm frame in the process. Any other tricks up your sleeve?”

She grinned. “Besides making the Institute disappear, of course.”

Murphy smiled back. “Got anything particular in mind?”

Ingram held up the detached arm panel and examined it. “If you ask me, I think you’ve done more than enough. Now, I’m not so sure using the _Minutemen_ to do the deed was the best idea…”

“Aw, hell,” Murphy said, helping herself to another chip. “If I’d known you were going to complain, I would have just called you up and we could have done it by ourselves.”

Ingram laughed. “ _But,_ you got the job done. And in my book, that’s what really counts.”

Murphy offered her a chip. The two munched in silence for a bit.

“How’d it go with Maxson?” Ingram asked finally.

“Better than expected,” Murphy admitted. “He’s upset with me, of course, but we came to terms.”

She gestured at Ingram with the chip can. “He said you had a job for me,” she added. “What’s up?”

“Right,” Ingram said, setting the arm panel aside. “We’re going to get Liberty Prime off of life support.”

Murphy raised her eyebrows. “Why?” she asked. “What’s the Brotherhood need a giant robot for if the Institute’s gone?”

“Nothing, now,” Ingram assured her. “Trust me, Maxson isn’t going to send him stomping off into the Commonwealth to take over settlements or hunt down synths. As far as I know, the plan is to start him up, make sure he’s working properly, then shut him down and pack him away on the Prydwen to take back to the Citadel. You just never know when a trump card like Prime is going to come in handy, so we’d like to finish his construction and get him running again.”

She began disconnecting the rest of the arm panels from the power armor frame in the bay and waved them around to punctuate her words. “We’ve been feeding him power through the Prydwen’s engines, but there isn’t nearly enough juice to cold start his fusion reactor. That’s why we need you to find us a beryllium agitator.”

“How will that start up his reactor?”

“Think of it this way,” Ingram said, checking the joints on the docked frame and applying lubricant to some of them. “If Prime’s reactor is a campfire, the beryllium agitator is like a match. Strike it, throw it on the logs, and the whole thing ignites. Fusion reactors need a massive power surge in order to get the reaction started. Once it starts, it’s self-sustaining.”

She straightened up. “I’m sure I could get one of my Scribes to bore you to death with the details, but you get the gist,” she said with a shrug.

Murphy cocked her head to the side. “And I’m betting you know right where to find it.”

Ingram nodded. “Quinlan dug up some dirt on a company called Mass Fusion. They were a power utility company before the world went belly-up. The CEO was some kind of an inventor.”

“Karl Oslow,” Murphy said. “He had the law firm I interned at on retainer.”

“Right,” Ingram said with a nod. “Anyway, he dreamed up all sorts of nuclear power toys. The agitator was his crown jewel. Records show he was working on it in his lab at the top of their high-rise in the Financial District. That’s where you’re headed.”

“Well, not tonight,” Murphy said with a sigh, leaning against a workbench behind her. “I’m not sure when I’ll get to it, but tonight I’ve got to get word about my plans to the base in Cambridge.”

She looked at Ingram curiously. “You wouldn’t happen to have a communications radio I could use around here somewhere? I know I’m supposed to ask Kells, but I hate to do it. He just stands over my shoulder listening the whole time.”

Ingram laughed. “Come on,” she said, turning back toward the mess hall. “I bet there’s a pilot we can clear out of his vertibird on the main deck for ‘maintenance.’”

 

* * *

 

“Cambridge Police Station, this is MY-517P requesting comms. Over,” Murphy said into the handheld speaker.

There was a series of crackles, then a male voice answered her. _“This is Cambridge Police Station responding. Over.”_

Murphy slid deeper into the vertibird’s seat and gave Proctor Ingram a thumbs up out the window. Ingram responded with her own, and continued tightening random screws and bolts on the side of the machine.

“Cambridge, I’m looking to speak to Scribe Haylen of Recon Squad Gladius. Over.”

 _“Copy that, Paladin,”_ the operator said. The line went silent for a minute, before crackling back to life with Haylen’s voice.

 _“This is Scribe Haylen of Recon Squad Gladius,”_ she said. _“How did it go, Paladin? Over.”_

“About as well as could be expected,” Murphy replied. “Elder Maxson grilled me about the Institute attack, demanded I put together a meeting with him and the Minutemen, banned me from team missions, assigned me a solo retrieval mission _and_ ordered me to return with the Prydwen to the Capital Wasteland for treatment when you guys leave. Over.”

 _“You’re coming back to the Citadel with us?”_ Haylen said. Murphy could hear the excitement in her voice. _“Murphy, that’s wonderful! Do you know when that’ll be? Over.”_

Murphy grimaced. “There’s still no estimated departure date, Haylen, so I don’t know. But right now I need to visit the Castle and set up the meeting with Minutemen leaders. Who’s in charge of your recon squad right now? Over.”

 _“Technically, no one,”_ Haylen replied. _“Our orders haven’t changed since the Brotherhood arrived in the Commonwealth, so we’ve been functioning without Paladin leadership since… well, since your promotion. Over.”_

“Right,” said Murphy. “That’s what I thought. I don’t have official orders yet, but would you and Rhys be opposed to a little field mission in the near future? Over.”

 _“Negative, Paladin,”_ Haylen said. _“We’re ready to go whenever you need us. Rhys has been antsy lately. Over.”_

Murphy smiled. “Is MacCready there? Over.”

 _“Yep, hold on,”_ Haylen said. _“Thanks for checking in, Murphy. Over.”_

There was some more static before MacCready’s voice broke through the speaker.

 _“-button right here? Is it on? Murphy?”_ he was saying. _“You there?”_

“I’m here,” Murphy said, smiling into the speaker. “You have to say over. Over.”

 _“I know, I know,”_ MacCready said. She could hear the smile in his voice. _“Haven’t used anything like this since my time with the Gunners. Over.”_

Murphy reiterated what she had told Haylen. MacCready responded immediately, his voice full of concern.

 _“You’re taking that flying death trap back to the Capital Wasteland?”_ he said in disbelief. _“What the hell, Murphy? Over.”_

“I am,” Murphy responded. “And so are you. Over.”

There was a moment of silence before MacCready replied. _“Come again? Over.”_

“One of my conditions for agreeing to go back to the Citadel for treatment was that I get a plus one,” Murphy explained. “And that’s you.”

Her voice softened. “Bobby, your son’s getting better. You need to go home. And if I’m going the same way, you might as well come with me. Over.”

MacCready didn’t respond right away. In the silence, Ingram sharply rapped the side of the vertibird three times: The signal that the pilot was returning.

“MacCready,” Murphy hissed into the speaker. “I have to go. I’m headed to the Castle to meet up with Preston and others. I’ll radio you again once I get there, but Maxson and I already agreed on the terms I mentioned. Do you copy? Over.”

 _“We copy,_ ” said Haylen’s voice again. _“Keep us posted, Murphy. Over and out.”_

“Over and out.” Murphy hung up the speaker again and hopped out onto the deck next to Ingram, just in time to see the pilot round the corner of the flight dock. “All set,” she said brightly, giving the side of the vertibird a slap.

“Thanks,” the pilot said. “She felt like she was catching a bit more wind resistance from the left, but I just blamed it on bad weather.”

“No problem,” Ingram said. She turned and winked at Murphy.

“Say,” Murphy said, giving the pilot a smile. “If you’re not on a deadline, can you drop me off somewhere? It’s urgent.”


	18. Petite Ombre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the General critiques some wine.

The vertibird touched down in the open patch of grass by the sea, just northwest of the Castle. The sun had set long before their arrival, but Murphy could make out a few figures on patrol along the battlements, their torch-lit shadows flickering across the water into towering figures.

“Thanks,” Murphy said over her headset to the pilot. “Can you let Lancer-Captain Kells know that I’ll be radioing him tomorrow with an update on the summit?”

“You got it,” the pilot said with a thumbs up. “You want me to hover for a bit or you got this handled?”

“It’s fine, get out of here.” Murphy took off her headset and shouldered her pack before jumping out, hunched low in the downdraft of the rotor blades.

The pilot took off immediately, nearly flattening her in his hurry to get back to a safe hangar and a bed. Murphy sighed and straightened up once she was clear of the wind, turning to the beaten trail that led up the hill to what used to be Fort Independence.

Some of the work she had suggested on her last visit was already underway, she could see as she got closer. The fallen stone blocks in the northwestern breach had been mostly cleared out, stacked just inside the wall, while the random broken stones, dirt and debris were piled unceremoniously in mounds near the water’s edge.

 _A few bags of cement mix and we can get started on rebuilding that wall and entrance,_ Murphy thought with a smile.

A guard positioned by the western cannon caught sight of her and hefted his laser musket. Murphy could make out the familiar hum as he cranked it in preparation, a red pinprick of light growing in his hands. She stopped walking and dug out a blue handkerchief from a front pocket of her pack.

“I’m a friend,” she yelled, waving it in the air.

The guard paused, then raised his musket to put her in his sights. Murphy tensed, but he lowered the gun and waved back.

“General!” he called. “Welcome back!”

Murphy renewed her climb, picking her way up the hill into the courtyard. The complex had gone mostly dark, but here and there lanterns winked from the windows and torches lined the battlements. The Radio Freedom transmitter tower stood tall in the center of the pentagonal fort, little lights blinking on and off along its frame. A lone Minuteman sat at the base of it, reading off a list of news reports in the shack around the radio console and desk. Murphy couldn’t make out the words, though, as the fort’s occupants had turned off the speakers for the night.

Deciding that it wasn’t worth it to wake everyone up to tell them her news, Murphy instead made her way into the north bastion in search of a drink before bed.

As she stepped into the diamond-shaped room, she was surprised by the soft glow of bottle lanterns. The bastion’s interior had been completely transformed since the last time she had set foot in it: Instead of a dingy kitchen, the dust had been cleared from the walls and floor, a wooden bar and kitchenette area had been installed and little tables filled the empty floor space, dotted with candles and lanterns. The flag of the Minutemen, the blue banner with a crossed rifle and lightning bolt studded with three stars, hung from the wall under blue, neon letters which read, “THE SHOT HEARD ROUND THE WORLD.”

Murphy was snapped out of her amazement by cheers from a corner table. The voices belonged to Sturges, Curie and Trader Rylee, who pushed back their chairs and whooped happily at her entrance.

“Well, howdy-do, General,” said Sturges with a broad grin on his face, standing to greet her. “Hasn’t even been a week. We weren’t expecting you until the end of the month at least.”

“Pay up, Sturges,” Rylee said, taking a drink from a dusty bottle the three appeared to be sharing. “I knew she’d be back.”

“Happily,” Sturges said, rummaging around in his overall pockets.

“Mademoiselle Murphy,” Curie said, joy blossoming on her face. The two embraced tightly. “It is so good to see you again, intact after such a momentous week.”

“Good to see you too, Curie,” Murphy said, releasing the newly-minted synth from her hug. “What are you three up to?”

“The usual,” Rylee replied. “Trying to use up the old stash of wine no one will buy before we break into a new crate.”

Murphy laughed and pulled up a chair next to the table. “I take it things haven’t changed much around here since the assault on Sunday.”

“Day-to-day, not so much,” Sturges said, suddenly sober. “Things were running a bit behind though, so I came down from Sanctuary for a while to catch up on some tinkering.”

“It is true,” Curie said with a sad nod. “The Minutemen numbers have diminished significantly.”

Murphy’s face fell and she twisted her hands under the table. “How many did we lose?” she asked quietly.

“There are 38 soldiers classified as deceased or unaccounted for,” said Curie. “Monsieur Garvey intends to hold a ceremony to honor their sacrifices in six days.”

Murphy nodded and stared at the table. Sturges clapped a hand on her shoulder.

“We all did what we had to do,” he said. “I’m glad it’s over.”

“Science, when used to advance the species, is a most wondrous thing,” Curie said with a shake of her head. “To see such knowledge perverted… This is a tragedy beyond words. But I think you did the right thing.”

Rylee took a drink and offered the wine bottle to Murphy. She accepted and took a sip, then spat it out on the table.

 _“Mon dieu!”_ Curie exclaimed, dodging the spray while Sturges and Rylee burst into laughter. Murphy coughed and shoved the bottle back into Rylee’s hands.

“What the hell?” she said. “I thought you said that was wine.”

“Well, that’s what the label says,” Rylee said, turning the bottle so Murphy could see. “Still does the trick, if you’re looking to get liquored up, but we’re the only ones willing to pay the cost.”

“It’s more of a standing challenge, at this point,” Sturges explained. “Preston brought the bottles up when you found General McGann down there, said he couldn’t bring himself to throw them out. But he won’t drink the damn stuff.”

“Figures,” Murphy said. “I take it he’s around here somewhere.”

“Monsieur Garvey goes to bed promptly at 9 p.m.,” Curie said. “He’s doing his best to set a good example for his _petite ombre._ His little shadow.”

Murphy smiled. “I owe him one,” she said.

“He owes you several,” Sturges corrected. “Watching the kid is a piece of cake compared to what you’ve done for the Minutemen. Plus, it’s not like you can take him with you everywhere.”

“Monsieur Garvey and I trade off,” Curie said happily. “The boy is very bright. You should be proud.”

“Should I?” Murphy asked sadly. Curie saw the error in her words and put a hand to her mouth.

 _“Je suis désolé,”_ she said, mortified. “But of course this is a difficult topic for you. I only meant, you _can_ be proud of him.”

Rylee nodded. “The kid’s adjusting well to the surface. He even quit making comments about the possibility of dying and the lack of toilet paper after a day or two.”

“Best mechanically-minded kid I ever met, too,” Sturges added. “I left him alone with my toolbox for a few minutes and when I came back he’d fixed the workbench radio. Thing had been nothing but static and sticky dials since someone spilled a Nuka-Cola on it and now it’s clear as a bell.”

“Thanks, guys,” Murphy said. “I really appreciate you watching out for him.”

 _But what he wants… what he needs… is a mom,_ she thought to herself. _I'_ _m not sure if I can be that person anymore._

She set the thought aside for the moment and gave the wine another try, shuddering as she swallowed. “So when did this get converted into a bar?”

“Oh, over the past few days,” Rylee said. “I was talking with Ronnie about getting some more traders to come through here, and I mentioned that nothing brings people in and keeps them in like a place to wet their whistles. No one was really using the kitchen for anything other than storage, so she let me use some of the old furniture from the basement tunnels to set it up, and Sturges hooked up the water and electricity again.”

She jerked her chin at Curie. “Madame Scientist here came up with the name, and Trashcan Carla sold us the neon lettering components.”

Curie shrugged. “It seemed fitting,” she said. “The Shot Heard Round the World. Do you agree, Mademoiselle?”

Murphy smiled. “I do,” she said. “Though it might be lost on caravaners.”

“Regardless, it gives me something to do when I’m not wheeling and dealing with the lot of them,” Rylee said. “Tending bar is actually a bit more relaxing.”

“Speaking of relaxing,” Murphy said. “I should probably turn in for the night. I have big news, so spread the word tomorrow. I want to see all the officers in the morning.”

 _“Oui,”_ Curie said. “Go have a sleep.”

Murphy stood and bade the three of them good night, then made her way to the east bastion and the General’s private quarters. She closed and locked the doors before unbuckling her Brotherhood flight suit and peeling off her boots, sinking into the mattress of her bed with a sigh.

From her pack, she pulled a well-worn holotape and popped it into her Pip-Boy. She laid back as it whirred to life, and the familiar voices she had listened to so many times before echoed in the stone room.  
  
_“I don't think Shaun and I need to tell you how great of a mother you are,”_ Nate’s voice said, joyous in the stark surroundings. _“But, we're going to anyway. You are kind, and loving, and funny, that's right, and patient. So patient. Patience of a saint, as your mother used to say.”_

Murphy turned her face into the pillow, tears welling up.  
  
_“Look, with Shaun and us all being home together, it's been an amazing year,”_ Nate went on in the tape. _“But even so, I know our best days are yet to come. There will be changes, sure, things we'll need to adjust to. I'll rejoin the civilian workforce, you'll shake the dust off your law degree.”_

The son she had lost cooed and giggled in the background. She could hear Nate bouncing him, the fabric of his onesie sliding against his shirt.  
  
_“But everything we do, no matter how hard, we do it for our family,”_ Nate said with confidence. _“Now say goodbye Shaun. Bye bye, say bye bye. Bye honey, we love you.”_

The tape clicked off, and Murphy cried into the silence. As she drifted into sleep, she swore she could feel the arms of her missing half encircling her.


	19. Rallying and Rebuilding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Minutemen debate military service equality over breakfast.

Murphy met with the officers of the Minutemen around the old, gilded table in the General’s quarters during breakfast, the leaders of the faction’s branches filing in sporadically with bits of food, drink and weaponry and in various states of dress.

She had gotten up early and tidied up a bit, making up the twisted sheets on her bed, shaking the dust off the Minuteman flag on the wall and straightening the furniture around the room in preparation.

Preston Garvey was first to arrive, ever the picture of readiness in his colonial duster, embroidered purple vest and jaunty, buckled boots. He set himself up at one end of the table, readying a stack of reports and correspondence along with a mug of steaming, black liquid that Murphy hovered over curiously.

“General,” he said, with a tip of his hat.

“Colonel,” Murphy replied. “What’ve you got there?”

“Roasted razorgrain tea with bloodleaf,” he said, holding it up for her. She took the mug gingerly and sniffed it, her nose prickling at the bitter, slightly burnt aroma.

“What I wouldn’t give for a cup of coffee,” she said with a sigh, setting it back down.

Preston smiled and began sorting his papers. He had never been very talkative in the mornings. Murphy took the chair on the opposite end of the table, tapping her fingers idly against the velvet table covering.

Major Ronnie Shaw strode in not long after in wrinkled fatigues, hair tucked neatly into her military cap. She gave Murphy a nod and sat down next to Preston, standing her ever-present laser musket up next to her chair.

Sturges and Rylee’s laughter echoed down the stone hallway before they came crashing through the doorway, Sturges carrying a tray laden with crispy squirrel bits, snack cakes and mirelurk egg omelets. Rylee grabbed herself a snack cake and sat down next to Murphy, while Sturges took the chair opposite Rylee and plopped the tray in the middle of the table.

“Morning, y’all,” he said brightly. Rylee giggled, and Murphy smiled at the two. Clearly something was growing between them, and she was happy to see it.

Murphy grabbed a stick of squirrel bits and munched on it idly while Rylee and Sturges chattered away until Curie and the resident doctor, Bethany, joined the group. The two women of science were engaged in a discussion about the chemical properties and medical benefits of gourd blossom extracts and took seats in the middle of the table, their matching Vault-Tec lab coats spotless.

The synth and the ghoul wrapped up their conversation and turned expectantly to Murphy. Rylee crunched on her snack cake and Preston tapped his stack of papers on the table, forming a neat pile.

“Officers of the Minutemen,” Murphy said, standing to address the table. “Thank you for meeting me here this morning. I wanted to start by thanking each of you for the role you played during the infiltration and destruction of the Institute. It was a long road we decided to walk, and everyone here felt loss along the way. I haven’t forgotten, and I never intend to forget your sacrifices and your hard work.”

The heads around the table nodded, and Curie pressed a hand to her heart and gave Murphy a sad smile. She returned it before moving on.

“Today, however, is a new day for the Commonwealth and for the Minutemen. We have plenty of work to do, and I come with an offer to negotiate alliance terms from the Brotherhood of Steel.”

Preston raised his eyebrows and Ronnie grimaced. “Damn sardines in their flying can,” she said under her breath.

Sturges whistled. “Well ain’t that a doozy of a deal,” he said.

Murphy nodded. “I met with Elder Maxson and he asked me to set up a summit between the two factions before the end of August. He wants to talk about the future of the Brotherhood in the Commonwealth and its relationship, if any is possible, with us.”

“Are we sure we want to?” Bethany asked, a trace of fear on her face. Curie reached out across the table to grab her hand.

“Do not worry, Bethany,” she said reassuringly. “Mademoiselle Murphy would never put you in any danger.”

“I understand your concern, Bethany,” Murphy said. “But I don’t think we can pass this up. In fact, I don’t think you, personally, should pass this up either. Like it or not, if Maxson wants to deal with the Minutemen, he’ll have to come to terms with the fact that we accept ghouls into our ranks. He might be striving for an image of genetic and aesthetic perfection for the Brotherhood, but it’s an image that humanity has never really had. And never will.”

Bethany smiled and patted Curie’s hand thankfully.

“And _moi?_ ” Curie asked. “Have his views on synths changed at all? Even the tiniest of bits?”

“That’s something we need to discuss,” Murphy said. “I think we can safely say you’re welcome at the summit, Curie, but we as leaders need to decide what our views on synths are before the Brotherhood comes in and tries to sway us in one direction or the other.”

She clasped her hands and sat down. “I may have some information to contribute to the discussion, but I’ll share it after I hear your thoughts.”

“Well, let me be the first to say that whether or not someone is a synth does not greatly factor into my analysis of their character,” Curie said confidently. “Though I may be a tad biased. _C'est la vie._ ”

Sturges chuckled. “If you’re an example of what synths have to offer the Commonwealth, Curie, then I can’t say I have much against them either,” he said.

Ronnie shook her head. “Curie’s a special case,” she said. “She wasn’t always a synth, she’s still basically a robot personality that’s been downloaded into a synth. No offense.”

“None taken,” Curie said. “But I disagree. I may not have the same creation story as the average synth, but am I not still an indirect child of the Institute? For G5-19, she was a true synth, and for all intents and purposes, we are one.”

“And you acknowledge that,” Rylee said. “You’re open about it. It’s not the open synths I worry about, it’s the ones that hide and pretend they’re someone they’re not.”

“Some of them don’t have a choice,” Preston pointed out. “Can’t forget about the Railroad and their usual methods.”

Bethany nodded. “Mind-wipes and false memory implants definitely muddy the waters,” she said. “After all, how can you blame a synth for not knowing itself when its identity was taken from it?”

“But they made that choice, too,” Ronnie said. “Didn’t they?”

“What’s the alternative?” Bethany asked, shrugging her shoulders. “Keeping their identity and risking rediscovery, by the Institute or by their own, synth-fearing neighbors?”

“The Institute’s gone, now,” Ronnie huffed. “What reason is there left to hide?”

Murphy put up her hand. “Keep it civil, please,” she said. “You’re both right. Fear is a huge motivator on both sides, and the Railroad most likely won’t change its routines simply because the boogeyman is no longer in the closet. For escaped synths, the Commonwealth isn’t a welcoming place, even in the places that have a welcome sign hung out.”

She sighed and stood again, crossing the room to shut and lock the doors. “I have news regarding the Institute, too. I don’t know what it means yet, but you all have a right to know.”

Murphy carefully laid out the story of the unmasking of Diamond City’s mayor, making sure everyone understood the gaps in the puzzle: The arrival of the Gen 1 synth messenger, the unexpected dismissal of McDonough from Institute service, and Piper’s account of it relaying out of the office in the upper stands. By the end of her tale, all of the officers were staring at her, dumbfounded and silent.

“Holy shit,” Sturges muttered finally.

“ _Mon dieu,_ ” Curie agreed. “What should we do?”

“What can we do?” Rylee said, twisting a skewer of squirrel bits between her fingers. “We’re spent. On men and supplies.”

“Who else knows about this?” Ronnie demanded. “Does the Brotherhood know?”

“Just Piper, Nick Valentine, MacCready and Scribe Haylen of Recon Squad Gladius at the Cambridge Police Station,” Murphy said. “I trust all of them to keep it a secret, without question.”

“Good,” Ronnie nodded. “No need to cause a panic.”

“Haylen’s monitoring high-band radio frequencies like the one the Institute used for its old relay system to see if she can pick up any strange activity, but the Brotherhood is more interested in hunting down the rogue bands that are roaming the Commonwealth,” Murphy added. “I’m working on getting her squad reassigned so as not to arouse suspicions at the police station. If we’re not careful, Maxson will figure it out and power up that giant robot of his and send it stomping around the countryside looking for holes in the ground.”

She paced around the room, kicking loose pebbles out of her way as she went. “I propose we hold off any definitive action until we get more information.”

“Is there any danger to the Castle of Institute retaliation?” Bethany asked.

Preston shook his head. “Not likely,” he said. “We dealt them a hell of a blow. If I were them, I’d be more focused on rallying and rebuilding than on revenge.”

“Right, so what we need to figure out is where they’ve retreated to and whether or not they’re a future threat,” Murphy said. “Sturges, I need you to start combing through that data you pulled off the network scanner. Look for any mention of evacuation procedures, building projects, area sweep reports, anything that might give us a clue where they might be.”

“You got it,” Sturges said with a nod.

“Rylee, can you get word from the traders and caravaners about possible places the rogue synths may be amassing?” Murphy asked. “Be discreet about it, maybe say we’re looking into clearing out the Gen 1s and 2s that are bothering settlers and clearing the roads. Maybe they can point us toward any particularly large groups or odd sightings.”

“Can do,” Rylee replied. “But you know caravaners. Gossip grows tall tales.”

“I’d take tall tales rooted in truth over mysterious silence any day,” Murphy said. “Bethany, Curie, we need to shore up our weapons, ammunition and medical supplies. I know our stores are running low, so work with Rylee and the traders and see what kinds of deals we can get thanks to our newfound fame. Milk it. If we need extra caps, start selling our excess purified water and scrap that robot in the basement; he ought to fetch something from Carla, at least.”

“Actually, General, I’ve been putting him back together in my spare time,” Sturges interjected. “He’s almost functional, I’m just missing an ammo resupply and a couple of fusion cores.”

“Even better,” Murphy said with a nod. “I have some caps I can give you. Get the parts and set him to patrolling the southern gate. And make _sure_ his assessment and recognition programs are running perfectly. I still have bruises from the last time he woke up.”

She turned to Ronnie. “How are we doing on recruitment?”

“Outstanding,” Ronnie said. “As soon as everyone heard we were taking on the Institute, everyone and their mother wanted to sign up to point a gun at C.I.T. We’re still pulling in good numbers, but for the most part, they’re all green as a glowing radstag when it comes to combat and discipline.”

“Focus on training them,” Murphy said. “Even if the Institute has backed off, I don’t want to be caught with our pants down. Preston, you can assist and whip the questionable ones into shape with a bit of work on the walls.”

“Completing the build will definitely help morale,” Preston said. “But we’re running low on stone and cement. We can maybe get the outside wall up on the northwest section, but after that we’ll be out of materials.”

“Then let’s see if we can’t work something out with Maxson about supplies exchanges,” Murphy said. “I bet they’re sitting on a bunch of building materials somewhere that they’re not using.”

Preston nodded and jotted it down in the margins of a report.

“If there’s anything else you think we can do to prepare and plan, do it,” Murphy went on. “I trust your judgments, and I can’t promise I’ll be around as often as you need me to be. In the meantime, I’ll do some digging, call in some favors, and see what I can find out about… whatever’s going on.”

Heads around the table nodded silently.

“Now, about the Minutemen’s views on synths,” Murphy said. “What’s our consensus?”

The table was quiet for a bit, before Bethany leaned forward. “I say we give them a chance,” she said with a meaningful look at Curie. “Provided they are up front about their identities.”

Preston, Rylee and Sturges nodded. Ronnie twisted her mouth in distaste, but said nothing.

Curie frowned slightly. “But what about the ones who don’t know who they are?”

Sturges shrugged. “How we gonna tell them apart anyhow?” he said.

“If we’re all in agreement, then we need to be careful,” Murphy said delicately. “I don’t know that we have any Minutemen who are willing to reveal themselves as synths, but if some do, then we need to treat them the same way we’d treat every other soldier. And we need to support them and discourage those who would see them fail.”

“Should we set up a separate regiment for synths only?” Preston asked.

Murphy shook her head. “That might do more harm than good,” she said. “If we really want to show others we’re serious, we can’t give them special treatment. Not even separate treatment.”

“ _Joie,_ ” Curie said, clapping her hands together. “An opportunity for all to learn. So inspiring.”

“There’s another possibility that might silence some dissenters,” Murphy added. “Ronnie, you could use some help training recruits, I assume?”

Ronnie scoffed. “Always.”

Murphy grinned. “I might know just the man. He helped train me.”


	20. My Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Murphy reunites with her son. Kind of.

After straightening out their policies regarding synths, the Minutemen officers spent the better part of the morning talking about the summit with the Brotherhood. The group agreed that it would be held five days hence on the somewhat remote Spectacle Island, provided the Brotherhood was willing to lend them a hand in clearing out the resident wildlife. Together they compiled a list of topics to hit on, a list of those who would be attending from the Minutemen side, and who they would request to see from among the Brotherhood leadership.

By the time they had finished, it was nearly noon, and Sturges’ plate of breakfast goodies had completely disappeared. Murphy dismissed them with a salute, but held Preston back for a quick conversation.

“How do you think that went?” she asked him when the others had made their way off to their duties.

He smiled. “You never fail to impress me, General,” he said. “Not a day goes by that I don’t thank my lucky stars you ran into our little group in Concord.”

“Almost a year ago, now,” Murphy said, returning his smile. “Now look where the Minutemen are.”

Preston nodded. “We’ve got a lot of work to do, but I’m confident in our abilities to rebuild.”

“Listen, Preston,” Murphy said, leaning against the table. “This summit with Maxson… it was part of a bigger deal I made with him. Not as the General, but as a Brotherhood Paladin and as an individual.”

She explained about her hallucinations and her search for help, which had landed her on the Elder’s doorstep. She told him about Maxson’s conditions and the promises she had made. He listened, expressionless until she reached the part about seeking treatment in the Capital Wasteland.

“You’re leaving?” he blurted out, a look of concern taking over his face. “When?”

“I don’t know,” Murphy said, shaking her head. “Maxson didn’t seem like he knew, either. But that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. In the event I don’t come back… I want you to take up the mantle. Become General.”

Preston’s eyes widened in shock, then narrowed suspiciously. “In the event you don’t come back?” he said. “Are you not planning to?”

Murphy scratched the back of neck and looked away. “I… I haven’t decided yet,” she said. “More and more, I’m feeling like I couldn’t possibly tear up my roots and fly away, what with the Minutemen rebuilding, the election in Diamond City, the Institute…”

She trailed off and met his eyes reluctantly. “Maxson offered me a way out of the Brotherhood too. Said he’d give me the choice whether or not to stay after the treatment is done. We didn’t talk logistics, but I wouldn’t put it past him to strand me out in D.C. once I’m no longer sick. And if I did make my way back to the Commonwealth after leaving the Brotherhood, I don’t know if it would hurt or help the Minutemen’s relations with them if I stuck around as General.”

Preston took his hat off and scratched the curly, dark hair beneath it. “Damn, General,” he said. “There’s more riding on this summit than I thought.”

Murphy nodded. “I didn’t want to tell the others just yet. Some of them would probably think of it as me running away.”

Preston shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t say I’d blame them for thinking that,” he said. “Hell, I’m thinking it. But I’m also thinking that after what you’ve been through, I can’t really blame you for wanting to.”

He leaned on the table next to her and grabbed her hand, squeezing it tightly. “You’ve done more for the Minutemen than almost any of the other Generals in history. If you want to step down, I’d be honored to take your place. Maybe a bit disappointed, but honored all the same.”

Murphy squeezed back and rested her head against his shoulder. “Thanks Preston,” she said. “I’m not leaving yet, at any rate, but if the time comes, I’ll be happy to pass the uniform and the hat on to you.”

Preston smiled, but his face sobered again quickly. “And what about the kid?” he asked.

Murphy released his hand and pushed away from the table, turning to face him. “I haven’t talked to him yet,” she admitted. “I don’t really know what to do. Maxson knows he exists, I mentioned him in the debriefing. But I doubt he would be willing to let me bring him along on the Prydwen’s return trip.”

“Not exactly what I mean,” Preston said, searching her eyes. “I meant, have you decided what you want to do with him? What you want to be to him?”

“I… I don’t know,” Murphy said, breaking his gaze. “He’s a kid, but… he’s not. He needs stability, he needs parents, but I don’t think I can give him that. You know I can’t bring a kid with me around the Commonwealth even if I wasn’t leaving eventually, you know what it’s like out there.”

Preston pulled a chair around and sat in it backwards, facing her with his legs sticking out around either side of its back frame. “He’s capable,” he said gently. “He’s already giving Sturges a run for his money on repairs, and I’ve been teaching him to shoot and be polite to others. People here like him.”

Murphy raised her eyes again, giving him a grateful look. “Thank you, Preston,” she said. “It means the world. But it’s not enough. He’s a synth. A synth _child_. He’ll learn, but he’ll never grow up.”

Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes. “And thanks to my _real_ son, he doesn’t know it.”

Preston crossed his arms and rested them on the back of the chair. “He’s been asking about you,” he said quietly. “Wants to know when you’re coming back to see him, or when he’ll get to join you on one of your adventures. Curie and I have been telling him you’re busy, but if you’re going to be here in the Commonwealth for a while, you need to make a decision about his future.”

Murphy nodded, wiping the tears away. “I know,” she said. “If we can actually get Danse to come down and become a drill sergeant for the new recruits, maybe he can help me make that decision. He’s got a bit of a… unique perspective on it.”

“I still can’t believe it,” Preston said, shaking his head. “Danse is the most dedicated Brotherhood soldier I know. To find out his origins are a lie… I can’t even imagine what he went through.”

“He’s doing okay, according to Scribe Haylen,” Murphy said. “As well as can be expected. But he’s alone up there in his bunker. It’d be good for him to get out and do some good again, and if we can establish a good rapport with the Brotherhood, he’ll probably be more willing to consider it.”

“Good,” Preston replied, standing up from his chair. “Now, even if you’re not ready to make a decision, you have to see the kid. Come on, I know where he usually is around lunchtime.”

He strode out into the stone hallway, Murphy trailing behind.

The Castle was alive with activity, Murphy was happy to see, as Preston led her out into the courtyard in the bright sun. The speakers for Radio Freedom were on again, and she could make out the news bulletin being broadcast.

“This is Radio Freedom, the voice of the Minutemen, broadcasting all day, all across the Commonwealth,” the DJ was saying. “Welcome, everyone listening, to Day Five of the New World: A life without an Institute threat hanging over us all. I’m pleased to announce that General Murphy, the woman we have to thank for her bravery and prowess in defeating the Commonwealth’s greatest enemy, has returned to us here at the Castle and is personally overseeing the next steps for the Minutemen.”

Preston led her up some stairs to the western wall battlements, and Murphy waved at the DJ at the base of the radio beacon. He caught sight of her and returned the wave before turning back to his equipment.

Murphy could hear the boy’s voice before she crested the top of the stairs. He was sitting on the edge of the wall, staring out west over the ocean and happily chattering away to one of the trained dogs the Minutemen kept on site.

“Someday I’ll be a Minuteman too, Washington,” he was saying. “And protect everyone at a minute’s notice.”

Washington panted and butted the boy with his head, a gesture he rewarded with a scratch around his scarred ears.

Murphy froze when she reached the top of the stairs, taking in the sight of the synth child. Someone had found him clothes to replace his Institute jumper, a blue-and-white striped t-shirt and a pair of jeans. His soft, ginger hair- _her_ ginger hair- was sticking up wildly in the breeze, and he was munching happily on pieces of mirelurk jerky from a tin on the stones next to him.

Preston squeezed her shoulder and turned to leave. Murphy grasped at his arm in panic, but he gently disentangled himself and smiled.

“Go talk to him,” he whispered. “I’ve got to get started on bricking up that hole in the wall. You can come find me after.”

The boy turned at the sound, and Murphy’s breath caught in her chest. The nose, mouth and jawline were every inch Nate’s, but those blue eyes were hers, staring back at her.

 _Shaun,_ she felt in the base rhythm of her heart beat. Her body was torn between running to scoop the child up and fleeing from the Castle altogether.

The boy’s face broke into a grin, a pair of buck teeth and Nate’s matching dimples lighting up his face. He scrambled up from the edge of the wall and ran to her.

“Mom!” he cried, flinging himself at her in a desperate embrace. “I was so worried!”

Murphy sank to her knees and hugged him back tightly, as if she never meant to let him go again. Washington barked and ran over to lick their faces. Shaun laughed and pushed the slobbery mutt away.

“It’s okay,” Murphy said, reaching out to pet the dog’s head. “I don’t mind a dog kiss here and there.”

“Mom,” Shaun said again, his voice cracking with emotion. Murphy pulled him away and saw tears streaming down his face.

“Hey, hey,” she said, pulling out her handkerchief and drying them. “No need to cry.”

“But Mom, _you’re_ crying,” he pointed out, and Murphy touched her cheek to find tears of her own. She dried them and embraced him again, stroking his hair lightly while she took deep breaths.

When he pulled away from her again, she had regained some of her composure. She sat on the ground, and he faced her, cross-legged with an innocent smile.

“I missed you, Mom,” he said, his young voice still high and warbly. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I didn’t leave you in the Institute, Shaun, and I wouldn’t just leave you here,” she replied with a smile.

His face fell a bit. “Is it true?” he asked, fidgeting with his hands. “Did you really blow up the Institute? Why would you do that?”

Murphy’s smile dropped into a look of regret. She reached out and took Shaun’s hands in hers.

“They were dangerous, Shaun,” she said as gently as possible. “To everyone in the Commonwealth.”

Shaun nodded. “Yeah, that’s what Sturges said.”

“I’m… I’m not proud of it,” Murphy said quietly. “I’m sorry you lost your home. I’m sorry you lost everyone you knew.”

Shaun looked up at her with a sad smile. “As long as you don’t leave me, it’ll be okay,” he said.

Concern washed over his face. “You’re… you’re not gonna leave me, right?”

Murphy pulled him into another hug, brushing her white hair aside to press her face against the back of his head. “Don’t worry kiddo,” she said. “I’m here for you.”

“Okay,” Shaun said, his voice quiet and full of trust.

They stayed like that for a bit longer, Washington panting happily nearby.

“You know,” Murphy said eventually. “I have a dog.”

Shaun looked up at her in delight. “You do? What’s his name? Is he here?”

“He’s not here right now,” she replied with another smile. “His name is Dogmeat.”

Shaun wrinkled up his nose. “Dogmeat?”

“I didn’t pick his name,” Murphy said with a laugh. “But right now he’s helping guard a settlement for me. Way up north, in a place called Sanctuary.”

“Sanctuary,” Shaun said with a nod. “I think Preston’s told me about it. It’s where you and Father used to live.”

Murphy’s expression froze. _Father_.

“Oh, before I forget, Father, uh, he told me to give this to you,” Shaun said, reaching into his jean pocket to pull out a holotape. “I didn’t listen to it, so I dunno what it says, but I think it’s important.”

Murphy accepted the holotape gingerly. The label simply read _Mom_. She put it away and took the boy’s hand again.

“Shaun,” she said. “Are you happy here?”

He grinned and nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I’d never seen the ocean before I came here. Or dogs. Or the sky.”

Murphy smiled sadly. “Would you like to stay here?” she asked.

Shaun considered it. “I think so,” he said. “Are you going to be here?”

Murphy squeezed his hand. “I will be,” she said. “But if you’ve been talking to Preston, then you know what my job is, right?”

Shaun nodded. “You’re the General. You go out and help people.”

“Then you know that I can’t be here all the time,” Murphy said. “I have to travel all over Boston to go talk to people, to fight bad guys and monsters and help folks in need get back on their feet.”

He nodded, a slight frown on his face. “I want to help,” he said. “Can I?”

Murphy took a deep breath. “How old are you now, Shaun?” she asked.

“I’m 10,” he said proudly, and her heart broke a little at his answer.

“Well,” she said carefully. “I don’t want to disappoint you, but I think you need to be a bit older before you come with me. Minutemen have to be 16 years old before they’re allowed to go on missions outside of settlements and the Castle. You have a bit of growing to do, kiddo.”

“But Mom,” Shaun whined. “I can run fast, I don’t eat a lot, and Preston’s been showing me how to shoot. I can hit the bottles on the beach.”

Murphy looked at him curiously. He stood and pulled her up to the edge of the wall, pointing at a line of liquor bottles that had been set up in the beach sand down below, just inland of the high tide mark.

“That’s very good,” she said. “But I’m afraid rules are rules. I made them when I became General, and I can’t break them for anyone. Not even my… my son.”

Shaun crossed his arms. “You said you wouldn’t leave me.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Murphy reassured him. “I’m just doing my job, and while I’m gone, the Castle is the safest place for you to be. One day, maybe not long from now, I’ll take you with me to see some other settlements and meet some friends. Like Dogmeat.”

Shaun considered this for a bit before he nodded. “Okay,” he said. “But can you do something for me?”

“What’s that?”

“Next time you’re out doing stuff, can you look for something? I want to try building some new things,” he said. “I could really use an old telephone. They’ve got all sorts of neat parts in them. I want to try and make something for you.”

“What are you planning on building?” Murphy asked.

Shaun shrugged. “I don’t know. Whatever I can come up with. I bet it’ll be neat though.”

He looked up at her. “So will you look for one?”

“Sure thing, kiddo,” Murphy said, ruffling his hair.

He smiled. “Thanks, Mom.”

“No problem,” Murphy said, scooping up the mirelurk jerky tin. “Now come on. Washington’s probably up here begging for your snacks because he hasn’t been fed yet. Let’s go down to the kennels and get him his lunch, then we can find some of our own.”

Shaun took her hand, and the two of them headed for the stairs, the dog trailing behind them.


	21. Super Cool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Scribe Haylen might be hiding something.

_“If you are hearing this, then whatever conflicts you and I have endured are over,”_ a voice crackled over the holotape in Murphy’s Pip-Boy. The voice of her son.

_“I have no reason to believe you'll honor the request I'm about to make, but I feel compelled to try anyway,” the tape went on. “This synth, this... boy. He deserves more. He has been re-programmed to believe he is your son. It is my hope that you will take him with you. I would ask only that you give him a chance. A chance to be a part of whatever future awaits the Commonwealth.”_

Across the courtyard was the synth child in question, laughing hysterically as the Castle’s pack of trained dogs danced around him for the tin of jerky in his hands. Washington, the oldest and largest, was wrestling playfully with his younger brothers Adams and Jefferson, while the heavily-pregnant Madison and her mate, Monroe, licked at the boy’s hands and whuffed their appreciation for the smoked meat taste on his fingers.

“Mom!” Shaun called to her.

Murphy took the tape out of the Pip-Boy and stowed it in her pocket before striding over to call the dogs off. It was the tenth time or so she had listened to it over the past two days, and she was still no closer to deciding what to do with the boy than she had been when she first laid eyes on him during the chaos of the battle with the Institute.

Shaun trailed around after her, now that she had returned to the Castle, though he still broke off to go bother Preston or Curie when she asked him for some privacy. He was smitten with the fort’s dogs, and had taken over their care and exercise as one of his chores. The group could often be seen playing around near the edge of the surf, or walking down to the docks in the south or the derelict Sullivan’s to the northwest. Murphy had the Minutemen on watch keep an eye on him, but secretly she thought that any creature who tried to tangle with the boy would instantly meet the business end of five angry dogs.

“Off,” she said to Monroe, who was doing his level best to bowl Shuan over and get at the treats. She took the tin from him and closed it up. “You can have more later, if you’re good for our guests.”

“When are they getting here?” Shaun asked breathlessly, his face bright in anticipation.

“I’m not sure,” Murphy replied. “They’ll be coming by vertibird, though, so we won’t miss them.”

Murphy had radioed the Prydwen after her conversation with the Minutemen officers, requesting back-up for the clearance of Spectacle Island. She had suggested to Lancer-Captain Kells and Maxson that the remnants of Recon Squad Gladius, consisting of Scribe Haylen and Knight Rhys, be reassigned temporarily to assist with the operation. Kells and Maxson had been agreeable, and the team, with MacCready in tow, were set to arrive at the Castle today.

“I can’t wait to meet them,” Shaun said wistfully. “Two, real-life Brotherhood soldiers and a mercenary? I bet they’re super cool.”

“For sure,” Murphy agreed. “Some of the coolest people I know. But Rhys is a little prickly, so give him space.”

Shaun nodded, wide-eyed. “I can’t wait to hear their stories.”

Murphy smiled and patted him on the back. “Now go on, put these guys back in the kennels. We don’t need them rushing the vertibird when it lands.”

Shaun hustled off with the dogs in tow, and Murphy turned and headed for the caravan tent and storefront that Rylee was assembling by the entrance to the tavern in the northeast wall. She caught the piece of fabric the trader was wrestling with and held it still, allowing Rylee to tie it down in place over the canopy frame with a bit of twine.

“Looking good,” Murphy said when the canopy was secure.

“Thanks,” Rylee said, dusting herself off. “If this doesn’t scream ‘trading post,’ I don’t know what does.”

“Ronnie will be happy she won’t have to stand out in the sun anymore, that’s for sure,” Murphy said with a chuckle.

Rylee waved a hand at her. “That old bird spends most of her time in the armory nowadays. She’s still trying to figure out how to cast more cannonballs for the big guns, but she hasn’t got the supply of iron to do it, and those laser turrets that have been shelved since god-knows-when are _still_ collecting dust.”

Murphy nodded. “When Sturges is done getting Sarge put back together, I’ll get him on that. Could save us all if those mirelurks ever decide to come back.”

“Good,” Rylee said with a grin. “Maybe he’ll spend less time in the basement and more time out in the sun with the rest of humanity.”

Murphy laughed. “With you up here, I don’t think we could keep that grease monkey in the basement for much longer anyway.”

Rylee blushed and twisted a strand of her auburn hair between her fingers. “You think so?” she asked, suddenly shy.

Murphy put her hands up and backed up a step. “I’m not getting involved in whatever you two are starting,” she said. “But I’m happy for you. Now, as far as our trading supplies go, what do we need and what do we have to give for it?”

“Well, I’ve got a list about two miles long for what we need,” Rylee said, all business again. “As for what we’ve got, we’re still the biggest supplier of mirelurk eggs and cured mirelurk meat in the western Commonwealth, but those stockpiles will run out eventually and the only thing we have left to trade is purified water. What with all the new recruits we’re getting in, I’m hesitant to trade off too much of it.”

Murphy rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “What if we set some of the younger recruits to farming after we’ve gotten the walls repaired?”

Rylee gave her a skeptical look. “Farming?” she asked. “We’re tripping over each other in the courtyard as it is. Where are we going to put down crops?”

“Spectacle Island,” Murphy said with a smile. “Nice, big open area, secluded, most likely fertile soil what with all the mirelurk scat that’s been piling up on it. Once we get those crustaceans out of there, I say we start sowing seeds.”

Rylee nodded, a smile growing on her face. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, I could see it. And with the boats at our disposal, we could do marine delivery all along the coast, from Kingsport Lighthouse to Warwick Homestead.”

“Great,” Murphy said brightly. “Then it’s settled. Give away what purified water you can for a good mix of seeds, and we’ll see what takes after we clear the crabs out.”

She turned to leave, then remembered something and spun around again. “Oh, and can you do me a favor and keep an eye out for kids’ clothes? Shaun’s only got the one pair and his jumpsuit.”

Rylee smiled. “Sure thing.”

 

* * *

 

The vertibird from the Cambridge Police Station set down in the northwest field early that afternoon, depositing Knight Rhys in a set of power armor, Scribe Haylen with an armful of radio equipment and field notes and MacCready with an extremely green face on the Castle’s front lawn. Murphy and Preston were there to greet them, and the group made its way up the hill at a leisurely pace, Murphy outlining the plans for the summit and the work that still had to be done in preparation.

“So the plan is to set out tomorrow morning in the boats and flatten whatever is calling that island home,” Murphy summed up as the group stepped into the Castle courtyard. “Locals say there used to be a settlement on the island, but it went dark months ago and no one who lived there has been seen since. So far we’ve only spotted mirelurks making their way around the beaches, but we’re going to proceed with caution.”

Rhys nodded. “Anywhere I can dock this suit for the night, Paladin?”

Murphy pointed him in the direction of the armory, and the Knight went stomping off toward the hydraulic steel door Ronnie was having a cigarette under.

“How was the trip?” Murphy asked Haylen.

“A little bumpy, but once we maneuvered past Trinity Tower and the super mutants stopped shooting at us, we were okay,” the Scribe admitted. “Rhys wanted to tear the minigun off the bird and jump into the fray, but the pilot wasn’t too keen on that idea.”

Murphy chuckled. “Same old Rhys,” she said. “Anyway, if you’re looking to stow your equipment, we’ve got bunks set up for you three in the barracks for you to settle into. You’re also welcome to hook the radio scanners up to the broadcast tower when you get some free time.”

“Lead the way,” Haylen said with a grin.

“Sure.” Murphy left Preston and MacCready comparing firearms by the radio tower and led the Scribe into the stone hallway toward the southeast bastion, past Curie and Bethany’s infirmary station and the makeshift pipes that brought water from the beach purifier to the Castle. Haylen stared in awe at the weathered stones, the repaired electric system and the Minutemen soldiers making their way to and from their quarters to their duties.

“Here we are,” Murphy said, stopping at an alcove that held two bunk beds and a vacant desk, with a narrow window overlooking the ocean. “Home sweet home for you guys, at least for a little bit.”

Haylen dumped her armful of supplies on a lower bunk and rushed to the window. “It’s perfect,” she said wistfully. “Oh, Murphy, how could you ever bring yourself to leave this place? It’s like something out of a fairy tale.”

Murphy snorted and crossed her arms, leaning on the alcove wall. “Complete with trolls in the dungeon,” she said. “Do you know how many mirelurks we had to flambé to get this place in working order again?”

“Rumor around the station is you wrestled a mirelurk king to the ground and ripped out its tongue before it could warn its brethren, then let the queen swallow you whole and used a power fist to punch your way out of her gullet,” Haylen said wryly, glancing over her shoulder.

Murphy dissolved into giggles with Haylen. Down the corridor, she heard Curie exclaim, “ _Mademoiselle,_ what is the matter?”

“We’re fine, Curie,” she called back. Haylen broke off her laughter with a look of curiosity.

“ _The_ Curie?” she asked. Murphy nodded. “Can I… can I talk to it?”

“Of course,” Murphy said. “But she is very much a _her,_ not an _it._ ”

“Right,” Haylen said with a nod. “I’ll remember. Anything else?”

Murphy rubbed her chin in thought. “You shouldn’t stare at Bethany because she thinks it’s rude, and Rylee did grow up in Vault 81 but she doesn’t like to talk about it. Oh, and don’t ask Shaun too much about his life with the Institute. It flusters him.”

“Got it.” Haylen gave her a reassuring pat on the arm. “I’ll try to keep Rhys under control. He’s still a bit combative and suspicious after the whole thing with Danse, but he’s Brotherhood through and through. If Maxson wants him here, playing nice, he’ll behave.”

“Thanks,” Murphy said. “I appreciate it.”

She sat on the edge of the other bunk as Haylen began unpacking her supplies. “How was MacCready?” she asked tentatively. “He kind of cut off when I told him about the trip to the Capital Wasteland.”

Haylen smiled as she pulled bits of wire and a stack of notebooks from her pack. “He sort of locked up when you said he was coming along,” she replied. “Surprise, in combination with gratitude and anticipated airsickness, no doubt. He was pretty quiet for the rest of the night, until we started our shift on watch. Then it was all I could do to get him to shut up about that farm of his.”

Murphy nodded. “Good,” she said. “I hope he doesn’t think I’m being too presumptuous.”

“Nah,” Haylen said, untying a bundle of pencils and pens held together by an extra pair of boot laces. “He wanted to thank you, just couldn’t think of how.”

Murphy chuckled and looked at her boots. “Always worried about his debts, that one,” she said. “He tried to give me my money back after I helped him break into Med-Tek. I made him keep it. He’s the one who’s risking his neck just traveling with me.”

“Well, not if you keep leaving him at Brotherhood outposts,” Haylen said with a smirk.

Murphy caught her with a cocky look of her own. “ _You_ certainly don’t seem to mind the company,” she said.

Haylen blushed. “I… we get along,” she admitted.

“You should,” Murphy said. “If there’s one thing you’re better at than me, it’s reminiscing about the crater that used to be America’s capital.”

She stood and stretched her arms. “I’ve got to get my stuff put together for the island sweep tomorrow. I’ll see you at supper, okay?”

Haylen nodded. “Okay.” She put an arm out as if to stop Murphy from leaving, but changed her mind and let it fall.

“What is it?” Murphy asked.

“It’s… it’s nothing,” Haylen said. “Go on. I’ll talk to you later.”

Murphy raised her eyebrows, but left the Scribe in peace.


	22. Death by Mirelurk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Murphy and friends interrupt someone's nap.

“Ma’am?” Rhys’ voice came through his power armor speaker, nearly drowned out by the sound of the boat’s motor.

He and Murphy were slowly puttering their way across the Massachusetts Bay in a torrential downpour, the blinking lights on the outboard motor of the boat in front of her lighting the way to Spectacle Island. Though the sky was doing its level best to hinder their progress, the sea itself was still, water droplets shattering into cerulean ringlets on its quiet surface.

“Yes, Knight?” Murphy replied. Her hair and combat armor pieces were already drenched, but the Marine wetsuit she had donned before heading out on the mission was keeping the cold rain from chilling her to the bone. Along with the boat motors, it had been among the items Murphy had spirited away from the town of Far Harbor, and she was glad of it.

Meanwhile, Rhys had insisted upon wearing his power armor for the island sweep, and was kneeling awkwardly in the center of the boat, weighing the watercraft down so much that the seawater was less than a foot below the top of the hull. Murphy had wound up steering, while Preston, Scribe Haylen, Ronnie and MacCready had piled in the other boat to lead the way.

“I just wanted to formally apologize for the way I treated you when you first set foot in Cambridge,” Rhys said, his helmet lowered slightly in shame. “It was wrong, and I’m prepared to accept the consequences.”

Murphy stared at him. “Consequences? I appreciate it, but a reprimand isn’t necessary, Rhys. You were right to be cautious.”

“Thank you ma’am,” Rhys said. For the first time since she had met him, Murphy could hear a hint of a smile in his voice. “If it’s any consolation, I’d just like to say that I’m honored to be serving with you, and I hope you’ll continue to bring glory to the Brotherhood.”

Murphy chuckled. “You know who you sound like right now?”

“Who, ma’am?”

“Paladin Danse.”

Rhys was silent. Though he gave no indication of his feelings, Murphy could tell his face had gone stony underneath the helmet.

“Not ready to talk about it yet?” she hollered as the rain grew louder.

“What is there to talk about?” Rhys replied bitterly. “He… _It_ … had us all fooled. Elder Maxson made the right call when he ordered you to put it down.”

“I don’t know,” Murphy said, carefully choosing her words. “It seems like every corner I turn on that airship, there’s someone whispering about how I made a mistake.”

Rhys’ helmet swiveled around to look at her. “Elder Maxson doesn’t make mistakes,” he said. “And in my experience, neither do you.”

“What if I did?” Murphy asked. “Maxson and I aren’t infallible. We’re human. We make decisions based on our hearts and guts when logic fails us.”

She couldn’t see his face, but Murphy could feel Rhys’ eyes narrow.

“Then I suppose it would be up to you to fix the mistake,” he said. “Or the decision may come back to bite you in the ass.”

The two fell silent. Ahead in the rain, Preston’s boat eased ashore, and figures hopped out to pull it onto the sands. Murphy pulled her boat up alongside the other, and Rhys stood as soon as it had stabilized.

“Thought for sure you were gonna sink,” MacCready said with a grin as Murphy jumped out. Rhys followed, and the three pulled the boat safely onto the beach.

“No such luck,” Murphy said with a grunt. “I guess death by mirelurk is the favored option today. Place your bets now.”

“There’s always the return trip,” Ronnie said with a chuckle, pulling her laser musket from her back and readying it with a few cranks. “We sticking together or splitting up?”

“Sticking together, please,” Haylen said, her nervousness plain on her face.

“Sticking together,” Murphy agreed. “We don’t know what’s out there.”

Preston cranked his laser musket until it hummed. “Lead the way, General,” he said.

The group fell into line behind Murphy: Preston and Ronnie with muskets at the ready, followed by Rhys and Haylen with laser rifles, and MacCready bringing up the rear with his sniper rifle in a relaxed, but practiced, grip. Murphy led the party along the beach to a dilapidated pier, the first stop on their trip through the island’s landmarks visible from the Castle.

Preston and Ronnie poked their heads in, but the structure was silent. A rotting rowboat still sat in the boathouse, and a pair of patio chairs stood under a frayed table umbrella on the dock, facing Boston Airport. Murphy could just about make out the massive outline of the Prydwen through the rain.

Just up the hill from the docks stood the remains of a once-palatial home. Its white walls had been blasted gray by unforgiving weather and soot from a fire. Next to it stood a mostly-intact shed and greenhouse. A broken child’s swing hung from a bent tree along the path from the pier, a peaceful scene if not for the desiccated corpse lying on a pile of siding next to the house.

Preston knelt down and examined the body. “Definitely mirelurks,” he said in a low voice, glancing around the area with a look of suspicion. “But not a recent kill. I’d say he’s been out here since about the time the settlement went dark.”

Murphy grimaced. “Haylen, Rhys, check that shed and see if there are any shovels lying around. MacCready, with me.”

She readied her plasma pistols and crept into the ruins of the house, MacCready close behind her. The few walls that were still standing were dilapidated and full of water damage, and mud churned by the rain covered the lower floor.

“Almost looks like that nest I found up by Salem,” Murphy whispered. “Keep an eye out for eggs.”

MacCready nodded, and the two slunk up the stairs. The wood creaked beneath their feet, but the rest of the ruined house remained silent. From the second floor, Murphy could see out over a bit more of the island through the drizzle: Off to the east was what appeared to be a pile of shipping containers, while a shack topped a hill southeast of their position. Scraggly trees covered the landscape, mist ensnared in their twisted branches.

“If this was a nest, the settlers probably cleared it when they moved in,” MacCready suggested. “There’s no sign of fungus or burrowing. I think it’s clear.”

Murphy nodded and they headed back down to the ground level, in time to see Haylen emerge from the greenhouse with two shovels.

“Should we start digging?” she asked.

“Better wait,” Ronnie suggested. “Might be more.”

Murphy nodded. “Just put them where we can find them again and we’ll come back,” she said. “There’s a shack up on the hill. Let’s head there.”

The group fell into line behind her again, and they made their way to what looked like a little, abandoned garden plot. Finding no sign of settlers or mirelurks, they struck out south toward another wooden structure.

Ronnie moved up next to Murphy as they walked. “Rylee told me about your plan to start a farm out here to sustain the Castle,” she said. “I’m not saying it’s a bad idea, but if that guy back there couldn’t make it work, what makes you think we can?”

“Ronnie, the Minutemen are a bit more organized and dangerous than one settler with his family heirloom hunting rifle,” Murphy said. “If we clear this place out and set up a guard system, it really shouldn’t be a problem. Most of the places people want to settle down in nowadays already have something living in them anyway: Mirelurks, radroaches, ferals, you name it.”

“Paladin,” Rhys said behind her. “Hold up.”

“What is it?”

The ground in front of Murphy erupted in a shower of muck and rainwater. From the earth emerged an overgrown lobster, flailing its claws in anger and knocking Ronnie off her feet.

“Ronnie!” Preston yelled, and Murphy leveled her pistols on the creature’s antennae and fired.

The mirelurk hunter chittered angrily and backed away from the bright green blasts, but not before Ronnie brought her musket up to her shoulder and hit it with a burst of red energy on its soft underbelly. It fell onto its side, writing in pain, and Murphy caught sight of Rhys charging in, laser rifle blasting.

Haylen and Murphy dragged Ronnie to her feet and staggered back, but the creature was already twisting in the throes of death. Rhys pumped its head full of laser blasts until it was still.

“Are you okay?” Murphy asked Ronnie breathlessly. The Minuteman veteran brushed some mud off her fatigues and adjusted her military cap.

“Perfectly fine,” she said, and spat some dirt onto the ground. “But that little surprise just proves my point.”

“Mine too,” Murphy said, gesturing at the mirelurk hunter’s corpse. “It won’t be bothering us or anyone else after today.”

“We’ve got more bodies,” Preston called from the ramp leading up to the shack. “Not fresh.”

These two appeared to have been gnawed on periodically by the deceased mirelurk hunter and its friends. Haylen turned and walked off a ways, doing her best not to retch, while the rest stood grimly around the mutilated corpses. Murphy realized that all of them had seen too many similar sights during their time on earth, and she envied Rhys the fresh air that his power armor was filtering in.

They left the bodies after Murphy marked them on her Pip-Boy for retrieval later, and continued south into the trees. Through the rain, Murphy could make out a rounded metal shack, and what looked like a radio beacon next to it.

“Odd,” she remarked. “Preston, did the Castle ever pick up a radio broadcast from the island when it was occupied?”

“Not that I know of, General,” he replied, a puzzled look on his face. “We monitored for distress calls, but we never heard one.”

The group approached the shack with caution, but found it empty. A tool workshop sat next to a radio console and a desk bearing a computer missing a screen. A large power switch with a dark indicator light on the radio console stood open, but gave no reaction when Murphy flipped it on and off a few times.

“What in the world…” Ronnie wondered out loud.

Haylen studied the setup. “It’s a broadcast station, but there’s no receiver,” she said. “Like they were sending messages but not bothering with replies.”

“Can we turn it on?” Murphy asked.

“Not without power,” Haylen replied. “Which, if I’m not mistaken…”

She poked her head outside the shack and nodded. “There are wires leading from the beacon down the hill to the south. Looks like the power source is that way.”

“Was, more like,” MacCready said. “I doubt any generator would hold up by itself out here for a number of months.”

Murphy shrugged. “I guess we’ll have to check it out,” she said.

“Wait a minute,” Haylen said, examining the computer shell. She reached inside the frame and pulled out a faded piece of paper. “What have we here?”

“Looks like instructions,” Murphy said, moving up beside her to read the scribbled handwriting. “Make sure the wires to the generator are all connected properly… generator MUST be on before turning on the signal tower… only mirelurks can hear it.”

Haylen’s face lit up. “It’s not a radio tower,” she said. “It’s a sonic speaker system.”

“Speaker system?” Ronnie asked, confused.

“Well damn,” Preston said, a smile spreading across his face. “That solves one mystery.”

“Looks like it,” Murphy agreed. “Settlers move in, set up an anti-crab beacon, then it breaks down and they get overrun.”

“Yikes,” MacCready said. “Someone must have slept through their watch shift.”

“Irresponsible,” said Rhys. “But we should recover this technology for the Brotherhood. It could be very useful.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Ronnie said. “Finders keepers.”

“We can argue about who gets the anti-mirelurk tech after we put on a mirelurk-free summit,” Murphy admonished. “For now, we just need to figure out if it even works. Haylen, you, Preston and Ronnie stay here. Rhys, MacCready and I will follow the power lines and see if we can’t get it running again. Stay by that switch and flip it as soon as that indicator light comes on.”

“You don’t need more than one of us to guard the switch,” Ronnie argued. “I’m coming with you.”

“No, Ronnie, we don’t know if this is going to work,” Murphy said. “For all we know, it’ll just make the mirelurks angry and we’ll wind up getting swarmed. Stay here and make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Ronnie grumbled but stayed put as Murphy turned toward the south, MacCready and Rhys in tow. Haylen leaned out of the shack, the note clutched tightly in her hands, while Preston leaned against a nearby tree, his musket at the ready.

“It says to stay out of the water when you turn the generator on,” Haylen called after Murphy. “Not sure why that’s important. Be careful.”

Murphy and her two followers moved as quietly as possible through the trees, following the power line down the ridge toward the water. The wire appeared to be intact, and wound from tree to post to tree, taking the three past a pre-war tractor, a distant, dilapidated lean-to and a number of hubflower bushes before the trees thinned and the beach sand dunes began. There, nestled in the murky water and tangled reeds, sat a beached tugboat. The power line trailed down over the beach into its cabin.

“I don’t like this,” Rhys said. He popped off his power helmet and eyed the rickety bridge of planks that led over the shallows to the deck of the boat. “That will never hold my suit’s weight.”

“Then ditch it or stay here,” Murphy suggested. “That’s our generator, right there.”

“The boat?” MacCready said in surprise. “Are you sure?”

“It’s clever,” Murphy admitted. “Most of the pre-war boats are fusion-powered, but their cores and engines were plundered over the years. This one, way out here, must have escaped that fate.”

She turned to the two men. “You staying here, or coming with?”

“I’ll cover you from the beach,” Rhys replied.

MacCready smiled. “You and me, then,” he said.

“Sounds good,” Murphy said, returning the smile. She set off over the sand dunes and stepped gingerly onto the wooden slat bridge, testing each plank before moving forward. Before long, she and the mercenary were inside the aqua green tugboat, their boots sloshing around in the water flooding the cabin.

The wire from outside led straight to the boat’s giant generator, and a quick look at the piece of machinery revealed that the circuit breaker switch had been turned off. Murphy moved to turn it on, but MacCready caught her arm in the air.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked seriously. “This thing’s not going to blow up when you flip that, is it?”

“It looks like it’s stable,” Murphy said. “If it wasn’t, we’d probably know. Of the other boats I’ve seen lying around the Commonwealth, the ones that had their engines deteriorate to the point of destruction gave off crazy amounts of radiation.”

She looked down at her Pip-Boy and gestured at her boots. “Nothing besides the usual water radiation here.”

MacCready pressed his lips together, then nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s do this.”

Murphy held her breath and flipped the switch.

There was a beat of silence, then the engine rumbled to life with a series of rattles and grinding noises. It settled into a quiet hum, and a number of indicator lights on a nearby console winked on.

“There we go,” Murphy said, satisfied.

“That wasn’t so bad,” MacCready agreed.

As if in response, an unearthly roar floated across the water outside the boat’s windows. Murphy and MacCready whipped their heads around in time to see a giant mirelurk rise from the shallows, bellowing its displeasure at the engine’s sudden awakening.

“Shit,” Murphy said. She pushed MacCready toward the door on the other side of the tugboat. “Get up to the second level, you’ll have a better shot.”

“Wait, where are you going?” MacCready asked, his face white.

“Rhys is out on the beach alone,” Murphy said grimly. “I’m going to back him up.”


	23. Overgrown Bisque Ingredient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Minutemen suddenly find themselves swimming in crab cakes.

Murphy’s feet pounded along the length of the wooden slats, water splashing as the boards bounced under her weight. Through the rain ahead of her, she could see Knight Rhys with his laser rifle blasting, red bursts of energy cutting through the air and bouncing off the mirelurk queen’s shell. 

“Aim for her mouth!” she yelled, unholstering her plasma guns. Rhys adjusted his aim and fewer of the bursts bounced away. 

Just before she could step ashore, a mirelurk hunter burst out of the water to Murphy’s right and knocked her off the footbridge with a swipe of its claws. She fell, firing wildly as the giant lobster rushed headlong into the boards, snapping and clicking as the wood tripped it up. A few of her plasma bursts found their mark, one melting an eye stalk and another burying itself in the hunter’s belly, but the rest disappeared into the rain. 

“MacCready!” she shrieked, pushing herself away from the beast as it scuttled toward her. Just as the lobster reared back to throw its venom, she heard a rifle blast, and it fell twitching into the water. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, she floundered until she found her footing and stood, her focus back on the mirelurk queen. The upset mother crab sliced her pincers through the air as Rhys leveled shot after shot at her head, tearing through the soft skin. Acid spray was dripping down the front of her, but Rhys had done his job: The spouts hung torn and useless. 

Murphy aimed for her legs and fired a volley of blasts into her joints, but the queen only faltered momentarily before pulling herself onto the shore, swaying menacingly toward the Knight in power armor. 

“Rhys, back up into the trees!” Murphy yelled. “You’ll lose her, she’s too big to follow!” 

Rhys obliged, stepping backward up the hill to the tree line, keeping the mirelurk queen in his sights. Murphy waved her arms and cried out, doing her best to distract the creature and turn her attention back toward the water. 

It worked. The mirelurk queen turned at the noise and trundled after Murphy, her footing unsure in the soft beach sand. Murphy trudged through the shallows, swearing at the beast as she fought off seaweed and driftwood in her way. 

“Come on, you stupid, overgrown bisque ingredient,” she yelled. “Turn your bitch face around so my friend can get a shot in.” 

The queen roared again, and MacCready peppered her head with bullets. 

“Yeah, you like that?” Murphy cried out. “I bet you’d taste good with melted butter, you dumbass barnacle!” 

Then, through the mist came a shrill sound, a clear screech that cut through the noise of the battle. It pulsed, then stabilized and worked its way up the pitch scale until Murphy could no longer hear it. The queen shook its claws from side to side, as if she was in pain, and bellowed to the pouring sky. 

A few bursts of red energy hit the queen in the legs, and she buckled to the ground. Murphy caught sight of Rhys inside the tree line, following her earlier lead and aiming for her joints. Further down the beach, mirelurks were erupting from their hidden burrows in the sand and streaming into the sea, the sonic signal beginning a mass exodus of crustaceans. 

The queen herself was trying to drag her weathered shell into the ocean, but Rhys saw his moment and charged in. The power armor-clad knight thundered down the sand dunes and leapt onto the mirelurk’s shell, traveling its rounded dome to the niche that held her vulnerable head. He lurched a bit as the queen flailed around, but steadied himself and his rifle enough to squeeze off a volley that ended her squirming. 

Murphy pulled herself onto a rock nearby and tugged weeds out of her boots. Gradually, the rush of mirelurks along the beach slowed, and the sand and water were as devoid of life as when they first set foot on the island. 

MacCready emerged from the tugboat, peering out before slinging his rifle over his shoulder and stepping onto the plank bridge. The boards that had made up the part adjacent to shore were floating away into the bay, so he reluctantly waded in to make his way over to Murphy. 

“I hate getting wet,” he complained. 

Murphy laughed. “It’s pouring,” she said. “You’re already wet.” 

“Okay, okay,” MacCready admitted. “I don’t mind rain. I don’t like getting  _ ocean _ wet. Leaves a layer of salt and crud on everything.” 

Rhys was still pacing around the mirelurk queen, admiring their handiwork. Up the hill, Preston, Ronnie and Scribe Haylen emerged from the trees. 

“Oh my god,” Murphy heard Haylen gasp. She stood as the three hustled down to the beach, waving and pointing at the mirelurk queen’s corpse. 

“What do you think, Preston?” she called. “Bigger or smaller than the one we took down in the Castle?” 

“Definitely bigger,” Preston said, a look of awe on his face. He moved up alongside Rhys and put a hand out to touch the shell. “I suppose she’s got more room to grow out here.” 

“Did she pop out before or after we turned the signal on?” Haylen asked. 

“Before,” Murphy replied. “Just after we got the power going. Otherwise, she’d probably be halfway out to sea by now.” 

Ronnie shook her head, a satisfied smile growing on her face. “Damn if we aren’t going to try to duplicate that sonic thingie for all of our settlements,” she said. “That saved us a whole passel of trouble.” 

“Agreed,” Murphy said. “But we should still finish our sweep. There might be more than mirelurks hanging around.” 

 

* * *

 

It was dusk by the time the group began motoring back to the Castle. The rain had stopped and the sky had cleared not long after the signal was turned on, so the party had taken the opportunity to comb the island thoroughly for any straggling threats. 

Luckily for them, all was quiet. Not far from the tugboat was another shack on the beach, which revealed two more dead settlers. Murphy set Rhys and Preston to retrieving the bodies for burial near the boathouse, while she, Ronnie, Haylen and MacCready walked the length of the beach back toward the shipping containers she had spotted earlier. 

Their search revealed a beached barge on the eastern end of the island, carrying giant crates and containers filled with everything from dryers to mannequins to safes. Murphy was pleased to find a few containers packed with useful items. One was filled to the brim with hardware and tools, still sealed inside shiny blue boxes with the Vault-Tec logo stamped on them. Another had a mostly-dry stash of industrial-grade Abraxo cleaner hidden behind several washing machines. Murphy swore she saw tears of joy in MacCready’s eyes when she pulled aside a rotted wooden divider to find several pristine pallets of Grey Tortoise cigarettes, their cartons still wrapped in the plastic used to keep them from jostling around. 

The body of a woman lay by the crates, but this one was fresh. Not far from the barge was another fresh body, a man, in a makeshift shelter with a locked safe from the barge next to him. 

Murphy shook her head at the sight. “If half the stories I’ve heard about Jamaica Plain are true, you’d think fewer people would be taking up the treasure hunting profession nowadays.” 

Ronnie grimaced. “Were people less gullible back in your day?” she asked. 

“No,” Murphy admitted. “Just less likely to die in the fortune-seeking process.” 

The four maneuvered the bodies back to the hill with the wrecked house, and found Rhys and Preston already digging graves facing east, Rhys’ power armor standing watch over their work. Murphy and MacCready left Ronnie and Haylen there and went to fetch the two bodies in the island’s central shack. They were light and easily dragged back to the little cemetery. 

While Preston and Rhys finished the seven graves, Ronnie and Murphy gathered a number of large stones from the beach and brought them up the hill. The six of them stood, quiet in the afternoon sun. Haylen had picked a bouquet of hubflowers from nearby bushes, and she scattered them over the bodies in the silence. 

“Better get on with it,” Rhys said, wiping sweat from his brow. “The sun will go down soon.” 

“Should we say something?” Murphy asked. 

Preston stepped forward. He closed his eyes and held out his arms, palms facing upward toward the sky. 

“Citizens of the Commonwealth,” he said, the words low in the breeze. “You’ve fought and won and lost. We don’t know your names, but we don’t need them to know your struggle, the struggle of all the people we seek to protect. We’re sorry we never knew you, but we’re thankful for your sacrifices and the lives you lived.” 

He lowered his arms. “God bless.” 

“Ad victoriam,” added Haylen. 

Rhys took that as a closing and began shoveling dirt over the graves. MacCready grabbed the other shovel and joined him. 

“You could’ve been a preacher in another life,” Murphy said with a sad smile. “I’ve got a trail of bodies behind me, but that’s the first funeral I’ve been to in… 214 years.” 

Preston bowed his head. “Death doesn’t usually give us time to mourn anymore.” 

When the graves had been covered and marked with stones, the party somberly made its way back to the boats.

 

* * *

  
  


Rhys made a beeline with his power armor to the armory once they set foot on land again. Preston, Murphy and Ronnie dragged the boats up on land while MacCready and Haylen made their way up the footpath to the fortress, laughing about something they had been discussing on the boat. Murphy could only make out the words “megaton” and “lantern” in their conversation. 

“You turning in for the night, General?” Preston asked when they had the boats secured. 

“Maybe,” Murphy said. “Rylee invited me to drop by sometime soon to swap travel stories. I might take her up on it.” 

“We’ll run a patrol out with the boats again tomorrow to make sure the mirelurks don’t come back overnight,” Ronnie said. “The last thing we need is a bunch of giant crabs deciding to crash the summit on Thursday.” 

“Sounds good,” Murphy said, and the three headed up the hill together. 

Preston and Ronnie bade her good night once inside the walls, so she made her way across the quiet courtyard to the Shot Heard Round the World, slipping into the shadow of the stone arch with every intent to grab a bottle of the terrible wine to share with Rylee over tall tales. 

She walked into the little pub and found Haylen with her arms around MacCready, the two locked in a passionate kiss while soft lantern light flickered over their features. 

Murphy stopped dead in her tracks and stared. The couple broke apart and stared back. 

“M-Murphy!” Haylen gasped, her field goggles atop her head askew and her eyes wide in panic. She stepped back from MacCready and pulled her hands up to her chest, clutching at the buckles on her uniform. 

MacCready said nothing, but the look in his eyes was a peculiar one. Embarrassment, yes, and the adrenaline rush that comes with being caught in a compromising position, but also a hint of curiosity and… rebellion? Murphy could swear the expression he was giving her was a challenge. 

“I…” she said hesitantly as something inside her stomach twisted into a new shape. She backed slowly out of the room, turned on her heels and fled to her quarters. 


	24. Waiting in the Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Murphy gets all dolled up.

Murphy shut the doors of the General’s quarters behind her and leaned back against them, staring into the darkness. The peculiar feeling in her stomach was spreading outward, tight in her chest and loose in her limbs. Her heartbeat ran wild, a full and anxious sound in the quiet of the stone room.

She shook herself and felt her way to the table, then around to the bed and the little nightstand beside it. Her fingers fumbled around until she found the lighter she had left out. A little flame sputtered to life in her hands, and she lit the bedside candle.

The light threw up warm shadows against the wall, and Murphy sank onto the bed and kicked off her boots. She sat for a little while, knocking her knees together and breathing deeply.

 _It’s a surprise,_ she told herself. _Not an unwelcome one, just unexpected. If this is what makes him… them… happy, it’s a good thing._

She laid back on the bed and closed her eyes.

 _Hope you didn’t scare them,_ a familiar voice said next to her.

Murphy’s eyes sprung open. She turned and looked into the eyes of her dead husband.

“You’re not here,” she said out loud.

Nate shrugged and scooted himself across the floor, closer to the edge of the bed. _Yet here I am._

Murphy shut her eyes and reopened them. The image persisted, with an apologetic look on his face.

 _It’s okay, strawberry,_ he said, his eyes doing the talking.

Murphy smiled sadly. “I’m not a strawberry anymore,” she said, holding up a lock of her white hair.

Nate smiled and reached out a hand as if to stroke her head, but a soft knock at the door interrupted him. One blink and he was gone.

“Paladin?” Scribe Haylen’s voice came through the door, almost a whisper.

Murphy rolled out of bed and shuffled to the doors, cracking one open to reveal a distraught Haylen in the lantern light of the hallway. With a sigh, Murphy held the door open wider and beckoned the Scribe in, but Haylen rocked on her feet hesitantly.

“Haylen, it’s okay, I didn’t mean to run off the way I-”

“No, Murphy, I’m sorry, I tried to tell you earlier and-”

“Haylen,” Murphy said, cutting her off. “It’s fine. I’m happy for you two. Now if you want to talk about it, get in here, or I’m going to bed.”

Haylen darted inside and Murphy shut the doors behind her.

“So dark,” Haylen said with a giggle, looking around nervously. “How do you sleep in here by yourself? I’d be terrified.”

“Believe it or not, once upon a time people enjoyed sleeping alone,” Murphy said, grabbing a few candles from the meeting table and lighting them with the night stand candle. She set them around the room and the darkness receded a bit. “It must have fallen out of fashion when more things started going bump in the night.”

She sat down in a chair at the meeting table and Haylen took a seat across from her. The Scribe’s field goggles were still askew, and wisps of chestnut hair were escaping from her ponytail. She fidgeted with the sleeves of her red sweater, still wet from the rain, and there were dirt smudges here and there on her face.

“I’m sorry,” Haylen said, clasping her hands in front of her, apologetic but resolute. “Squad members aren’t supposed to fraternize with each other, and I should have told you about it immediately when we arrived.”

Murphy chuckled. “Haylen, MacCready’s not part of the recon squad,” she said. “You don’t owe me an explanation. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Well, he’s still under contract with you, the squad leader, and he’s your friend,” Haylen protested. “ _I’m_ your friend, too. It was… bad form? Anyway, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Murphy said gently. “We’re all adults here and you aren’t beholden to me when it comes to… whatever it is you two have going.”

Haylen looked down and smiled. “I’m still not sure what it is,” she said, her voice hopeful but hesitant. “We really just did a lot of talking at the police station while you were gone, and he sat through all my watches with me, and when we started comparing notes on life in the Capital Wasteland, well… it just sort of turned into something new.”

Murphy raised her eyebrows. “So you two…”

“No, no,” Haylen said with a giggle. “It’s been pretty innocent so far.”

“Great, but in the future…” Murphy trailed off in sudden realization. “What even are the options for protection nowadays?”

“Well there are pills,” Haylen said. “Knight-Captain Cade can give prescriptions. Or surgery if you’re absolutely certain, but the Brotherhood isn’t a fan of sterilization.”

“Wouldn’t have pegged them for being against vasectomies,” Murphy said in surprise. “With the holier-than-thou, human purity attitude.”

Haylen shrugged. “The East Coast chapter is doing just fine, population-wise, but on the West Coast, some chapters are dying out because of low numbers. Finding a partner and having kids is just part of your service, if you’re not that open to recruitment.”

“Thank god Maxson rolls out the welcome wagon, in that case,” Murphy muttered. “But what do you want?”

“I don’t know if I’m ready to worry about that yet,” Haylen said softly, staring into the darkness over Murphy’s shoulder. “I feel like I’ve got so much left to do in life, so many places to see and discoveries to make. Having kids… it’s a ways off.”

“How old are you, Haylen?” Murphy said, studying her curiously.

“Oh, 24,” replied Haylen, leaning back in her chair. “I’m still young.”

Murphy nodded. “Yeah, you are. I know you don’t get as many years as we did pre-war, but people thought I was too young when I got pregnant at 26. Of course, MacCready’s a dad already at 22…”

Haylen smiled. “He had Duncan at 18, he told me. Way too young.”

Murphy thought back to the face she had seen on the memory lounger monitor, the terrified woman in the subway tunnel with the toddler on her hip. _A frightened teenager,_ she thought sadly.

“I didn’t mean to pry into your future plans,” she said. “I care about both of you, I just don’t know what you’re looking for in the long run. I have an idea what MacCready is looking for, but you and I haven’t really swapped stories about that kind of stuff before.”

Haylen met Murphy’s gaze shyly. “I know,” she admitted. “With Danse and Rhys and the four other Knights in the squad, I didn’t really have the opportunity to talk about that stuff. I forget you’re more open sometimes. It’s nice. Having someone to talk to about it.”

She lowered her eyes again. “If you’re okay talking about it, I mean.”

“Of course I am. Just… be careful,” Murphy replied. “But I’m happy for you two. And if MacCready ever gives you a hard time, just tell him you’ve got Rhys waiting in the wings.”

Haylen snorted. “Mr. ‘My-whole-life-belongs-to-the-Brotherhood?’ Sure, Murphy.”

 

* * *

 

On the morning of the summit, Murphy emerged from her quarters decked out in the white, button-up shirt, starred combat chest plate and blue overcoat that indicated her rank as General. She had braided her white hair over her left shoulder for the occasion and shined the knee-high boots and tricorn hat before buckling the leather strap across her shoulder and stepping out into the courtyard.

Preston Garvey greeted her with a satisfied smile and a tip of his hat by the radio tower, which was blaring “Yankee Doodle” through the Castle’s speakers. “You look very dashing, General.”

“I look like a pirate,” Murphy said, fidgeting with her plasma gun holsters inside the coat. “Come on, let’s get to the boats and get this over with.”

MacCready met the two of them down by the shore and spread his arms out in welcome, the first Murphy had seen of him since their encounter after clearing the island. She had actually been a little bit worried that he had taken off, because for the size of its walls, the Castle wasn’t that big of a place to hide in. He looked no worse for wear, though. The usual road dust was gone from his face and clothes, Murphy noticed. He had even trimmed his beard.

“Your chariot awaits,” he joked, and pointed to the rest of the Minutemen delegation down by the boats. “We’re all set to go.”

Murphy raised an eyebrow at him, but he turned and headed for the shore before she could say anything. _We’re not going to acknowledge what happened, then,_ she thought. _Great._

She surveyed the small crowd, checking that each of the officers were there and somewhat presentable. Amid the small handful of Minutemen soldiers that were coming along for appearance’s sake, Preston and Ronnie matched in colonial dusters and embroidered vests, but Ronnie was still wearing her military cap rather than the Minutemen hat. Scribe Haylen and Knight Rhys had worn clean Brotherhood flight suits for the occasion, but Rhys had elected to leave his power armor behind and donned a helmet and combat armor instead. Bethany and Curie appeared to have cleaned and pressed their lab coats, and even Rylee had washed her Vault 81 jumpsuit and made an attempt to brush out her usually-wild hair. Sturges, however, was still wearing his dusty overalls, and shot Murphy a grin when she stepped into one of the boats with Ronnie and Preston.

“Some things never change, huh?” she said with a smile and a pointed look at his outfit.

Sturges shrugged. “I’m not a talker, I’m a fixer,” he said, giving the boat a shove into the water before hopping in himself. “No sense in pretending to be something I’m not.”

One by one, the boats shoved off and made their way over the choppy sea, the morning sun rising over their island destination. The ride over was quiet, save the sounds of the ocean and Preston thumbing through his notes for the occasion. Before long, they were pulling onto the sand of Spectacle Island.

Murphy jumped clear of the surf and straightened her hat. She trudged off in the direction of the shed on the hill, next to the ruined house and the tree with the broken swing, the agreed meeting place. The rest of the Minutemen and Recon Squad Gladius fell in line behind her.

As the line crested the hill, a drone of engines approached from the northwestern sky. Three vertibirds soared under the morning clouds, over the hill to a level spot of ground above the beach. Murphy turned to watch them land, but before the machines touched down, four power armor-clad Knights jumped from their bellies and fell to the earth. The resulting thuds shook the island, and the eyes of the Minutemen soldiers on the hill widened.

“Show-offs,” Ronnie muttered behind Murphy.

The Knights moved out of the way and formed a line with weapons drawn while the vertibirds landed behind them. The Minutemen soldiers formed a line of their own behind Murphy and the officers, nervously moving their hands over their weapons but keeping them holstered or shouldered.

“It’s an intimidation tactic,” Ronnie snapped at the group. “Don’t let it faze you, soldiers. Frederickson, hoist that flag up higher.”

The recruit in question straightened the flagpole in his hands and stood up a little taller.

“Atten-TION!” Ronnie barked. The Minutemen snapped their arms to the sides and brought their heels together, eyes forward.

“ _Ça alors!_ ” remarked Curie at the sight of the formation. “Such poise… you have trained them well, Madame Shaw.”

“Spend a bit more time outside in the courtyard during training hours instead of holed away in your lab and you’d be less surprised, Curie,” Ronnie said in a satisfied tone. “SALUTE!”

The soldiers brought their right hands up to their foreheads, palms down. Ronnie turned back to face the vertibirds, and the sight brought a smile to Murphy’s face. Once, she had watched Nate go through similar motions. Once.

She and the officers watched silently as the leadership of the Brotherhood stepped out of the vertibirds, moving up behind the line of Knights into a slow march toward the hill. She could make out Proctor Quinlan and Lancer-Captain Kells, with another man she didn’t recognize in the center. Proctor Ingram stood out in her power armor frame, her red hair wild as ever, and the man in power armor with red accents had to be Paladin Brandis.

Haylen and Rhys moved away from the Minutemen contingent and snapped into salutes of their own at the sight of their Elder bringing up the rear. Arthur Maxson looked as serious as ever. The lapels of his battlecoat were clean and stiff and the buttons and buckles on his black officer’s uniform shone.

The two parties met at the top of the hill, and the Brotherhood Knights parted to let Maxson through. He approached Murphy with a look of appraisal, taking in her appearance, the officers and the line of soldiers behind her.

“General,” he said in a formal tone. “Thank you for arranging this meeting.”

“An overdue occurrence,” Murphy said with a nod. “The pleasure is ours.”

Maxson nodded back. “If we’re all in agreement, let’s move on to business. We have quite the list of proposals to get through.”

“Please,” Murphy said, and gestured at the shed on the hill. The two of them led the two factions, the Minutemen and the Brotherhood, up to the little wooden building that would play host to their fates.


	25. Making Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bethany nearly socks Proctor Quinlan in the jaw.

In the day and a half since the island had been cleared, the Minutemen had knocked out the wall separating the hill’s main shed from its greenhouse portion, leaving a wide room with three walls of cracked windows overlooking the island. The cabinets, workbenches and power armor station had been moved outside, and the big barn doors of the shed and some sturdy scrap wood had been fashioned into a long table down the center of the room. Stools and chairs scrounged from the shipping containers on the nearby barge lined the table, five seats on each side and one at either end with extras around the room along the wall.

“Charming,” said Proctor Ingram behind Murphy. “But I can’t sit down properly in this rig. Give me a hand, will ya?”

Murphy and Elder Maxson looked at each other and positioned themselves on either side of her power armor frame just outside the shed. Ingram hit the release latch, easing herself out to put an arm around either of their shoulders. They maneuvered her to a chair, which she sank into with a sigh, rubbing her joints and the stumps of her legs.

“Feels good to get out and about,” she said. “Thanks.”

The rest of the Brotherhood leadership took seats next to Ingram on one side of the table, Paladin Brandis leaving his power armor outside in the vacant station. To Murphy’s surprise, she recognized the mystery Brotherhood attendee as none other than Proctor Teagan.

“Well I’ll be,” she said with a laugh. “They _do_ let you out of your cage.”

“Only for special occasions,” the quartermaster said with a wink as he took his seat.

The Minutemen officers took seats opposite the Brotherhood leadership, and Murphy and Maxson positioned themselves at either end of the table. MacCready, Scribe Haylen and Knight Rhys took seats against the wall, while the attending soldiers hung around the door, not yet ready to relax. Proctor Quinlan pulled out several pens from his belt pouches and began taking notes on a pad of paper on Murphy’s immediate left, while Preston Garvey did the same across from him on her right.

“Thus begins the Summit of 2278, this Thursday, August 30th, on Spectacle Island,” Quinlan said aloud as he wrote. “Consisting of debate, negotiation and resolution between Elder Arthur Maxson, leader of the East Coast Brotherhood chapter and its operations in the Commonwealth, last living descendant of our founder, Roger Maxson; and Paladin Murphy, General of the Commonwealth Minutemen. Convened from the Brotherhood are the commanding officer of the Prydwen, the Orders of the Sword, Shield and Quill, and resident Paladin. Convened from the Minutemen are…”

He looked expectantly at Murphy, who quickly introduced each of the Minutemen officers. Sturges gave the Brotherhood leadership a small wave when she said his name last, and Ingram returned it with a genuine smile. A good start.

“How do you want to proceed?” Maxson asked when she had finished, leaning forward in his seat, his hands steepled in front of him.

“You have a list, as do we,” Murphy said. “Start at the beginning and we’ll respond to each, then hammer out compromises as needed.”

“Very well,” Maxson said. “Proctor Quinlan, as we discussed.”

“I believe we wanted to start with the matter of the remaining synths,” Quinlan replied.

“Right,” Maxson said with a nod. “The Brotherhood has dedicated itself to the eradication of synths since its arrival in the Commonwealth, and it intends to continue that policy moving forward. Obviously the destruction of the Institute was the ultimate goal, but synths still remain a threat. We request the Minutemen recognize this goal and, if not work to help us accomplish it, at least show us the courtesy of staying out of our way.”

Murphy took a deep breath in through her nose. It was a tough topic right out of the gate, but not an unexpected one.

“I’ll let you take this one, Curie,” she said with a smile.

“ _Merci,_ General,” Curie said happily. “Regarding synths, the Minutemen are prepared to assist the Brotherhood in their search for Generations 1 and 2 which may be roaming wild after the Institute’s destruction and causing undue stress upon the settlers of this land.”

Lancer-Captain Kells and Brandis nodded, but Maxson furrowed his brow as if waiting for the catch.

“However,” Curie went on. “The Minutemen cannot possibly condone the destruction of Generation 3 synths, and will not assist the Brotherhood in this pursuit.”

“I knew it,” Kells said indignantly. “Elder, they’ve aligned themselves with the Railroad. This is a waste of time.”

“Now, now, Kells,” Quinlan said in his even, British accent that Murphy kept forgetting to ask where he had acquired. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. Might we ask why you’ve taken this stance?”

“First, there is simply no infallible way to test if a suspected synth is human or not,” Curie explained. “That knowledge died with the Institute.”

“Hold on a minute,” Ingram said with a frown. “There’s a database of information on the network scanner you gave us that we already used to out one synth among us. Why wouldn’t that work as a means of cross-referencing identities?”

“That database is incomplete,” Sturges said, crossing his arms. “I’ve had a poke around in it and about a third of it is corrupted information.”

“Two-thirds of a database is better than nothing,” Quinlan said with a shrug. “But what are your other reasons?”

“Well, Monsieur Quinlan, there is the slight complication of my _being_ a Generation 3 synth,” Curie said. “Though mine is a special circumstance, for I used to be a Miss Nanny robot. We’ve met before, you know.”

Quinlan and Ingram looked intrigued, but Kells, Teagan and Brandis recoiled with various exclamations of disgust at her admission. Maxson at least had the sense to say nothing, merely raising his eyebrows.

“Fascinating,” Quinlan said, adjusting his spectacles to peer at Curie. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to submit yourself for study?”

“Watch it,” Bethany snapped.

“You can come along too, my dear,” Quinlan assured her. Rylee gripped the ghoul’s arm to keep her from standing up in anger.

“Everyone, please,” Murphy said, gesturing at Bethany to back off. “It’s true. Curie is a synth, and we’ve accepted her for what she is. She is not and never was programmed and controlled by the Institute, and we’re lucky to have her. As such, the Minutemen have decided to accept Gen 3 synths into our ranks, provided the synth gives full disclosure about its identity and history.”

She could see Maxson’s mind racing across the table, and a bit of color drained from his face. They both knew there was at least one Gen 3 synth that could come back to haunt him.

“You can’t be serious,” Kells said, slapping a palm down on the table. “Gen 3 synths remain the most dangerous generation due to their ability to blend in and deceive. Accepting them is a mistake the Brotherhood cannot support or allow.”

“We’re not asking the Brotherhood to join us in this,” Murphy said defiantly, her eyes flashing at the Lancer-Captain. “We’re letting you know that we can’t assist in or condone your decision to wipe the Gen 3s out because our policies differ.”

“So you’re asking for tolerance,” Teagan said in a gruff voice. “For the synth fugitives you’re harboring.”

Murphy met Maxson’s eyes. “You want us to stay out of your way,” she said. “We’re just asking that you also stay out of ours.”

Maxson thought for a bit. “Will you be disclosing to the Brotherhood which of your troops identify as synths?” he asked.

“That will be up to the synth,” Murphy replied. “Some, like Curie, have been open about what they are with everyone, but I’m sure you can guess why others would rather keep it quiet.”

“Obviously to conceal their true motives,” Kells said angrily. “If you intend to work with us, we at least have the right to know which of your troops are flesh and blood and which are abominations.”

“ _Quel dommage,_ ” Curie said, clasping her hands together. “Such narrow-mindedness.”

“Listen here, Lancer-Captain,” Ronnie Shaw said with an accusatory finger pointed at Kells. “Unless you’ve had your head buried in a hole for the last week or so, you’ve probably noticed that the men and women in front of you managed to accomplish your main mission _for_ you and blew the Institute to hell. Now I’m not sure what that means for the Gen 1s and 2s, but if I was a Gen 3, I’d be making peace with the surface world pretty damn fast, because I’m out of other options. No more Institute means no more free rides around the Commonwealth, no more cushy living, and no more machines that fix you up or make a new person quick as you like. Capisce?”

MacCready snickered from his seat along the wall, and Haylen smacked his leg to shut him up.

Preston cleared his throat and shot Ronnie a look. “What Major Shaw is trying to say is that the Gen 3s have nowhere to go and no more mission to accomplish on behalf of the Institute,” he clarified. “They’re not scheming, they’re not infiltrating, they’re just trying to survive. We’re willing to give them an opportunity to start over and do some good.”

“Not to mention a lot of synths out there either ran away from the Institute or don’t even know what they are,” added Bethany. “Or both.”

“So you’re offering them… what, protection?” Ingram asked. “How is that any different from the Railroad?”

“The Railroad operates in secrecy and would rather hide synths among us with the use of mind wipes,” Bethany said. “We can’t undo what they’re doing, but we can offer an alternative of transparency.”

“But not transparency with the Brotherhood,” Quinlan pointed out.

“Given what you would likely do with the information, can you blame us?” Bethany said in a poisonous tone, sticking her chin out defiantly at the Proctor.

“And what’s to stop us from airdropping into your little fort with a couple dozen Knights and mini-guns and mowing down anyone who stands in the way of our extermination efforts?” Kells bellowed. “Your little militia might intimidate the local raiders, but the Brotherhood could squash the lot of you with ease.”

“Kells, that’s enough,” Maxson ordered sharply. The table went silent.

Murphy narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. “Lancer-Captain Kells, the Castle may look like a pretty little postcard from your seat up in the Prydwen. I’m sure the whole Commonwealth looks rather nice. But looks can be deceiving.”

She gestured at the officers of the Minutemen. “Any one of us here today could tell you from personal experience that if you don’t respect it, the Commonwealth will chew you up, spit you out and leave you for the insignificant pile of flesh you are on the shores of the Atlantic. We’ve seen it. We’ve paid our dues. We’ve earned our respect.”

Her chair creaked as she leaned forward in it and fixed Kells in a withering look. “If I were you, I’d view the Minutemen the same way.”

Maxson cleared his throat before Kells could respond. “If this alliance is to move forward, then we must come to an understanding,” he said carefully. “Lancer-Captain Kells is right about one thing. The Brotherhood of Steel has a right to know which of the Minutemen we wind up working with in the field have revealed themselves to be synths, for the safety of our troops as well as the safety of the Commonwealth.”

Murphy drew in another deep breath and relaxed somewhat. “We can tell you that you will not be working with any synths,” she said, then nodded at Curie. “Present company excluded.”

“And the synths that will be tasked solely with Minutemen duties?” Maxson asked.

“It is not the place of the Minutemen to out its members,” Murphy said, crossing her arms. “That choice is theirs and theirs alone.”

Maxson shook his head. “If you can guarantee that my troops will not deal with synth representatives, then I ask an additional guarantee that the Minutemen will cease all dealings with the group known as the Railroad and denounce it.”

“To my knowledge, the Minutemen have no current dealings with the Railroad,” Murphy said. “Agreed.”

Kells looked personally insulted and Brandis grumbled, while Teagan just shrugged. Quinlan scribbled furiously on his notepad and Ingram leaned back in her chair with a sigh.

 _I wonder how this would have gone if they knew what we know,_ Murphy thought to herself, her mind flashing back to the panicked face of Diamond City’s mayor. _Maybe Ronnie made the right call._

 

* * *

 

Negotiations dragged on late into the morning and past noon, though none of it was as heated as the debate surrounding synths. Teagan and Quinlan were stubborn about their right to extort local farmers into handing over a portion of their crops to feed Brotherhood troops, but dropped the topic quickly at Rylee’s suggestion of a shared farming settlement on Spectacle Island. Quinlan practically rubbed his hands together in glee when Murphy offered the use of the Graygarden settlement as a botanical testing facility for new strains of plants and crops.

 _Senior Scribe Neriah is going to love it,_ Murphy thought with a smile as they hashed out access routes and personnel. _And the robots won’t mind a new project or two._

Tensions ran a little high again when the topic of ghouls came up during discussion. Kells, Ingram and Brandis made it clear through their tones of voice and expressions toward Bethany that they were hesitant to even engage with civil ghouls, but Maxson squashed their lack of manners with a stern reminder that the East Coast chapter of the Brotherhood had held outside trade partnerships with Capital Wasteland ghouls in a settlement called Underworld for some time with no difficulties.

Sturges, Quinlan and Ingram spent a while haggling over recovered technology, which Quinlan maintained was a Brotherhood right to acquire and catalog. Ingram was a bit more flexible, and Sturges was able to build the foundations of a partnership to share pre-war tech that could prove useful for settlements, on the condition the Minutemen turn over any recovered Institute tech immediately.

Brandis and Kells requested permission to use Minutemen settlements as staging areas for Brotherhood missions, which Ronnie and Preston agreed to, provided prior approval was sought. However, Murphy did not approve the use of the Castle as a staging area, as Maxson was reluctant to provide the Minutemen access to Boston Airport and the Prydwen.

“I’d prefer to keep from stepping on each others’ toes,” she said adamantly when Brandis protested.

“So would I, but you’ve got us at a hell of a disadvantage here,” Brandis argued. “I’m not saying you’re going to stroll in one day and blow up the base, but the fact remains that you know the Prydwen and the airport inside and out, while we know next to nothing about your base.”

“Setting aside hypotheticals, we would like to at least know what our allies are working with,” Maxson agreed. “In terms of firepower, manpower and defense.”

Murphy thought for a bit before an idea came to her. “Spend the night,” she suggested.

Maxson looked taken aback at the suggestion, while everybody else at the table looked confused.

“What, all of us?” Ingram said doubtfully. “Thanks, but I’d rather the Prydwen didn’t blow up because we decided to have a sleepover.”

“Not all of you,” Murphy said, shaking her head. She held her hand out toward Maxson. “Just the Elder. We’d be happy to give him a tour and some insight into our operations. Trying to lay it all out in meetings will take forever.”

“Out of the question,” Brandis said loudly. “Elder Maxson’s safety can’t be guaranteed.”

“There are a number of other matters that require the Elder’s attention,” Quinlan agreed, setting down his pen.

“His security team is welcome to stay as well, if you want,” Murphy said with a shrug. “Provided they don’t outnumber the garrison. And Proctor, no offense to the Brotherhood, but I very much doubt those other matters are as important as cementing relationships with allies.”

“I accept your invitation,” Maxson said suddenly.

The rest of the Brotherhood leadership looked at him incredulously, but the Elder pushed his chair back and stood.

“I’d like to meet with my officers and personnel before we part ways, but my team and I will meet you at the Castle within the hour,” Maxson said, straightening out his coat. “Thank you again for the opportunity to speak with you all.”

Murphy stood and was surprised to see a spark of excitement in the young leader’s eyes. “Likewise,” she said. “We’ll meet you back at base.”

Maxson strode out of the shed, followed by the four Knights. Brandis and Kells helped Ingram back into her power armor, and the Brotherhood officers filed out and down the hill toward their parked vertibirds. Haylen and Rhys hesitantly brought up the rear.

As soon as they had left earshot, Rylee let out a heavy sigh and stretched her arms over her head, her torso gently falling to lie over the table. “Sweet mother of a mole rat, I thought they’d never leave,” she said, her voice muffled against the wooden surface.

Murphy smiled and the Minutemen visibly relaxed. Sturges cracked his knuckles loudly and Preston took off his hat and scratched his head, revealing a few trapped beads of sweat that trailed down his forehead.

“So, how’d we do?” Murphy asked him.

“Pretty goddamn well,” Ronnie cut in, leaning over to scan Preston’s notes. “He only wrote a few strings of swear words and a couple lines of ‘oh my god.’”

“We can go over it later,” Murphy said with a laugh. “Pack it up, we’ve got to get back to the mainland before our guests do.”


	26. Etched in History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are fireworks.

A vertibird deposited two Knights in power armor in the northwestern field and powered down before Elder Arthur Maxson stepped out of its cockpit. Each of the Knights hefted a pair of duffel bags and heavily modified laser rifles, and the three made their way through the dry grass toward the looming walls of the Castle.

Murphy stood on the side of the hill waiting for them, still in her General uniform, along with Ronnie Shaw and Preston Garvey. Another vertibird flew over their heads, making a beeline for the airport, while the third dropped down briefly to allow Scribe Haylen and Knight Rhys to hop out before soaring off in pursuit.

“Welcome,” Murphy said to Maxson when the sound of the rotor blades in the sky had faded. “I wasn’t aware you were already packed for this excursion. Unless you knew something I didn’t.”

Maxson gave her a look of mild irritation. “It pays to be prepared, Paladin,” he said.

Murphy held an arm out and ushered the Elder and his entourage up the hill. “You’ll be staying in my quarters,” she said as they climbed. “And we have bunks for the Knights if they want to get out of armor for the night and rest.”

“We’ll be taking watch shifts at the Elder’s quarters,” one of the Knights replied, his voice distorted by the speaker. “If it’s possible, I’d request the bunks be within earshot.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Ronnie grunted, adjusting the laser musket on her back. “We can kick some of ours out of the adjacent alcove into the main barracks for one night.”

The group stepped through the breach in the wall, which was slowly closing thanks to the masonry efforts of three Minutemen who tipped their hats as they went by. Preston and Ronnie halted in the courtyard with Haylen and Rhys to wait, while Murphy led the Knights and Maxson into the east bastion and threw open the doors to the General’s private quarters.

“A bit dark and dank, I know, but it’s better than sleeping in a room with the rest of the garrison,” she said, sweeping a stack of reports up off the meeting table before Maxson could get a look at them. The Knights set the duffel bags down in their place, and Murphy could hear metal clunking as they settled on the table. Maxson strode around the room, taking in the Minutemen flag, the wide desk with a few bottles of wine on it and the portraits of historical figures and events hung on the walls.

 _Thank god I made my bed,_ Murphy thought.

The Brotherhood leader stopped in front of the print of _Washington Crossing the Delaware_ hung over the sleeping space, and his usually-stern expression lightened. “A favorite of yours?” he asked, tilting his head toward the painting.

Murphy smiled. “There was a point in time where it was almost criminal to say otherwise,” she said. “But yes. Even though what it used to represent is long gone.”

“On the contrary,” Maxson replied, turning back to study George Washington’s face. “Resolution and bravery in the face of adversity, the spirit of revolution, the desire for a better future… those sentiments are still very much alive today.”

Murphy moved across the room to join him, hugging the pile of papers close to her chest. “True,” she said. “I more meant the spirit of America. Patriotism, nationalism, democracy… all the keywords politicians used back in the old days. Words that wound up taking on new meanings and governing daily life in the country’s final days, really.”

She stared hard at the expressions of the men rowing the boats, their jaws set and their eyes wide, alert with hints of fear and determination. “I saw this picture on a poster once, at a demonstration in favor of the Yangtze and Gobi campaigns. They were comparing the invasion of China to the beginnings of America… as if it was about freedom and not about oil.”

Maxson frowned next to her. “I was under the impression most citizens were opposed to the continuation of the war.”

“We were,” Murphy said with a sigh. “They pulled our boys out of Anchorage and put them on the streets to stop rioters, there were so many who were angry. There were parts of Boston that Nate didn’t want us to go to anymore because of roadblocks and checkpoints and dangerous crowds. But there are always going to be people out there who blindly believe their government can do no wrong.”

She turned from the painting and made her way back to the doorway. “Look where that belief got them.”

“I didn’t mean to offend,” Maxson said behind her. Apologetic. It was a new tone for him.

“You haven’t,” Murphy replied sullenly. “I just have a lot of ghosts haunting me. Anyway, we should get on with it.”

 

* * *

 

Maxson was mostly quiet during the tour of the Castle, taking in the sights and sounds of the bustling Minutemen hub. Murphy got the impression that he was trying to drink it all in, internalize it, then write it all down somewhere to file away in the Brotherhood’s annals. Preston and Ronnie led the way, pointing out the ongoing projects, daily work assignments and possible future plans, while Murphy, Rhys, Haylen and the two Knights trailed behind.

Rylee was already back in business at her trading post, where she had enlisted the help of MacCready in unloading a number of items from the pack brahmin of Trashcan Carla. The two women were laughing and swapping verbal jabs while Rylee counted out caps.

“Now who’s this burly drink of water in the fancy coat?” Carla asked, gesturing with her ever-present cigarette at Maxson as the group approached. “The rest of you I know, but this handsome fella’s new.”

“Ma’am, you have the honor of addressing Elder Arthur Maxson of the East Coast Chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel,” one of the Knights said.

“Bullshit,” Carla said, putting her cigarette out on the trading post’s counter. “This kid’s young enough to be my grandson.”

MacCready’s eyes widened and he ducked for cover behind the brahmin. Maxson gave the trader a look of amusement.

“‘Fraid it’s true, you old bat,” Ronnie said, smacking Carla on the shoulder. “So behave yourself.”

“A Brotherhood Elder? Well, well,” Carla said, tossing her cigarette butt over her shoulder and wiping her hands. “You tell your boys in the orange suits that the 95 through Lexington is still a mess, if they’ve got some time on their hands. Last time I went through I got chased by raiders halfway to Concord.”

“I’ll take it under consideration,” Maxson replied. Murphy could see the hint of a smile threatening to creep onto his face.

“Good,” Carla said with a nod. “Now Rylee and I gotta settle up, unless you’re ponying up the bill for all this junk.”

The group moved on, and Haylen gave MacCready’s hand a squeeze in passing. Murphy smiled at the sight, but her own fingers curled into empty air.

After poking their heads into the Shot Heard Round the World, they crossed the courtyard to the armory, where they were greeted by Sturges and the newly-resurrected Mk II sentry bot, Sarge.

“Movement detected,” the robot said upon their approach. “Sentry bot, designation SARGE, powering up.”

Sturges slapped its side happily. “Got those fusion cores all installed, Murphy,” he said. “Just need some more .45s and we’ll be good to go.”

“Super,” Murphy said. “Now maybe get working on those laser turrets when you have a chance.”

Ronnie led the group through the armory, proudly showing off the collection of Minutemen weapons and armor which she had stacked in neat rows over shelves of ammunition. Maxson lifted a cannonball, rolling the black metal sphere around in his wide palms.

“Your heavy artillery is operational?” he asked in disbelief. “But you never use it.”

“Don’t really have to,” Ronnie replied. “But the big guns are there if we ever need them.”

Murphy smirked. She and Ronnie had tested all five of the cannons months ago to make sure they worked in the midst of a radstorm, timing their tests by the flash of lightning in the green sky and firing under cover of the rumbles of thunder that followed. Since then, she always carried a couple of smoke grenades in her pack whenever she was trekking through the ruined city. So far she had had no reason to use them, but the option of raining down destruction on any particularly nasty group of Commonwealth pests brought her peace of mind.

Maxson requested a demonstration, but Ronnie declined.

“Don’t want to waste the ammo,” she grunted as they made their way up the stairs to look at the cannons themselves.

Murphy led Maxson to the closest artillery piece and laid her hand on it, the metal warm from the sun under her fingers.

“This is Huron,” she said, and pointed at the big guns on the other bastions. “Over there is Erie, then Superior, Ontario, and that one’s Michigan.”

Maxson put his own hand on the gun, a look of lust growing on his face. “Magnificent,” he whispered, taking in the massive, rusted barrel, the rotating track it sat on and the built-in protractor used to angle the weapon.

Murphy smiled. “Bet you wish you had some of these mounted on that blimp of yours.”

“Something to work toward,” Maxson said.

Somewhat reluctantly, they left the cannons and headed back down the stairs to continue their tour with a walk through the medical station and laboratory, where they met Curie and Bethany. Curie was as eager as ever to show off her workspace and ongoing experiments, but Bethany hung back a bit at the sight of the Knights.

The group moved on to the barracks, then finished up at the kennels. Shaun was nowhere in sight, which Murphy was thankful for. She wasn’t sure how Maxson would have reacted to the sight of the juvenile synth.

Finally, the eight of them stepped back out into the afternoon sun of the courtyard, where the radio tower was trilling out fife music and a handful of Minutemen were setting up what looked like small mortars in the center of the courtyard.

“Memorial service preparations,” Preston explained. “I planned this a while ago, things just happened to coincide. We’re happy to have you, Elder, and you’re welcome to join us later.”

Maxson nodded. “I’d be honored,” he said.

 

* * *

 

As dusk fell over the Castle, the Minutemen slowly packed away their tools and abandoned their work spaces, flocking to the courtyard’s fire pits which had already begun to glow. Someone in the supplies division had bagged a radstag, and the largest fire pit was spit-roasting the creature for the garrison to share. The flames hissed as fat dripped off the carcass into the fire. It smelled absolutely delicious.

Murphy had changed out of her General’s uniform and back into her old Vault 111 jumpsuit for the memorial ceremony. Preston had promised her it would be the last time he would make her wear it, but she was seriously debating whether or not to burn the damn thing. She had left the hat on and her hair in its braid, though silvery-white strands were poking loose in more than a few spots and she kept having to brush some of the front locks back over her ear.

Preston had also handed her a list of names for the ceremony- the 38 Minutemen dead from the assault on the Institute. She kept smoothing it out and reading it, the syllables heavy on her tongue as she mouthed the names over and over.

“I don’t know when to come in,” she had protested.

“You’ll know when,” he had replied.

As conversation grew around the fires, Murphy found herself a seat close to the mortars that had been set up earlier. Preston joined her, and they sat in silence as the men and women around them chatted about the day, about the Brotherhood and about the weather.

When the stars began to twinkle in the night sky, he stood and walked to the mortars. A few Minutemen caught sight of him and got up to join him, positioning themselves by the three barrels aimed at the sky. A number of crates had been placed nearby, but Murphy couldn’t make out what was in them.

“Minutemen,” Preston called out, his voice deep and carrying. Conversations died down and the fort’s garrison turned to look at him one by one.

Preston took off his hat. “We’re gathered tonight in honor of a number of events and extraordinary individuals. I know it’s 11 days overdue, but the defeat of the Institute is something we need to formally celebrate, because it’s something everyone in the Commonwealth can celebrate.”

There were several enthusiastic whoops from the crowd at that, and Preston grinned and waved his hand. “Yeah, yeah, we did it,” he said. “But we also need to celebrate today’s first steps to alliance and agreement between the Minutemen and the Brotherhood of Steel, whose leader is among us tonight.”

He gestured at one of the fire pits, and Murphy could make out Maxson standing in the light of the flames, flanked on either side by the two Knights in power armor. Rhys was at the same fire, actually smiling for once in his life, but Maxson merely nodded in acknowledgement as the Minutemen cheered.

“Finally, we need to celebrate the lives and mourn the deaths of 38 of our own,” Preston said, his face sobering up. “No one in war escapes the feeling of loss. As somebody I know said, it was definitely a long road that we decided to walk.”

Murphy smiled, recognizing her own words.

“So tonight we mourn, but we also celebrate the 38,” he went on. “The men and women who took up arms in defense of their families, their homes, their land, and the stories they’ve etched in history. They will not be forgotten.”

He gestured at Murphy. She stiffened, then stood, walking slowly to join him by the mortars.

Looking over the crowd, Murphy could see dozens of faces earnestly staring back at her. Sturges with his arm around a tearful Rylee, Bethany’s black eyes reflecting the flames of the fires around her, Haylen trying to keep a stiff upper lip… and many more she knew by name, by face, by uniform. In the middle was MacCready, on the ground next to a wide-eyed Shaun, and in the silence he met her eyes and gave her a slight nod.

She took a deep breath and looked down at the paper in her hand. “Wallis O’Malley,” she read.

Behind her she heard a thunk, then fizzling that culminated in the launch of a projectile into the air. Murphy looked up in time to see a firework shell spiral upward into the black before bursting into a red blossom of light.

Around the courtyard, the Minutemen stood and turned their eyes skyward. Murphy read through the list out loud, one by one, and after each name, the Minutemen manning the mortars shot off another shell. The Castle was silent, its inhabitants saluting as the colors exploded overhead. Brilliant patterns of red and blue and gold crackled across the sky in memoriam.

When the last name was read and the last firework trailed into the darkness, exploding in a shower of sparks, the grounds remained quiet for just a moment. Then, slowly but surely, conversations grew again and the Minutemen moved around the bonfires. Someone turned the Radio Freedom speakers on, and violin music drifted over the scene.

 _Evergreen Broods. Jacob Frederickson. Cat Correlli. Patrick Walsh. Emily Walsh._ The list grew warm in Murphy’s hand, the names of the dead burning a hole through her fingers and into the back of her mind. She shoved it into her pocket and darted for the stairs up to the battlements, and every face she passed along the way was Nate’s.


	27. Clair de Lune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone wants Hancock.

MacCready found her on the battlements, staring out over the ocean while the strains of “Ave Maria” on violin echoed around the Castle’s walls. He sat down next to her and the two dangled their feet over the stones, silent as the surf crashed against the shore below them.

“Did Haylen ask you to come find me?” Murphy finally asked.

“No,” MacCready said, without turning his head to look at her. “I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re not okay, Murphy. You’ve spent these last two weeks trying to be a rock for everyone on the outside and completely losing it on the inside. It’s obvious.”

“I’m fine,” Murphy said, leaning back and kicking her feet out. “I just… needed some air. Tonight… today… was a bit much.”

She turned to him and took in a sharp breath. “Are you mad at me?” she asked.

He smirked and turned slightly to meet her eyes. “I was just going to ask you that,” he replied.

“I thought, with the fight with Swan, the whole business in Diamond City and leaving you behind in Cambridge while I flew off and made decisions about your future without your input…” Murphy trailed off and shook her head. “Wait, why would I be mad at you?”

“Haylen,” he said, turning back to the ocean. “Mainly. I know she talked to you and said you were okay with the whole thing, but I get the sense you’re avoiding me.”

“ _I’m_ avoiding _you?_ ” Murphy said incredulously, sitting up again. “I never even saw you yesterday, after I found you two in the bar. I thought you’d just up and left.”

MacCready gave her a skeptical glance. “As if I’d just up and abandon you all on the eve of the Brotherhood’s arrival,” he said. “I took Shaun and the dog pack down the coast for a bit. Taught him some shooting tips and spent the day exploring an old bath house attached to a community center or something. It had some fishing gear and the docks weren’t totally rotted out, so we caught a few little silvery fish and threw them back.”

“You did?” Murphy said with a smile. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You seemed busy.”

Murphy sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve been running around, trying to get everyone in the fucking Commonwealth to play nice, and my dead husband and my son’s idea of a consolation prize for losing him are following me around with puppy-dog eyes.”

She nudged him gently. “I’m not mad,” she said quietly. “I’m jealous. What you two have going on, the beginning of something like that… when you feel like you’re losing your mind but at the same time you’ve never been saner and things have never made more sense. It’s one of the best feelings in the world.”

MacCready smiled and looked down at his hands. “It really is,” he said. “I hope you get to feel it again sometime.”

“I don’t even know if I can feel that way anymore,” Murphy said sadly. “It’s been almost a year since I woke up, and I still catch myself thinking about what Nate’s doing, like he’s off at work or something.”

She threw a hand up in the air, gesturing at the stars above them. “But he’s out there now, and I’m stuck here, trying to make the most of it. Shooting mirelurks, brokering peace deals, fucking Hancock…”

MacCready started at that. “You fucked Hancock?”

“Yeah, I fucked Hancock.”

He chuckled. Murphy joined in, and before they knew it they were both rolling on the ground laughing up at the stars.

“Oh, my god,” MacCready said, wiping a tear away from his eye. “I can’t believe this. I knew ‘taking a bath’ was code for something else.”

“Well I took a bath too,” Murphy said, giggling. “It just didn’t end there.”

“How was it?”

“It was nice. You know, he was really giving and attentive.” Murphy rolled over to face MacCready. “But it wasn’t forget-Nate nice, or forget-the-giant-explosion-you-orchestrated nice.”

“Good to know,” MacCready said with a grin. “I’m not judging you. Everyone wants Hancock. Hell, I’ve thought about it. Guy’s got a way with us all.”

“Well look at you, Mr. Equal Opportunity,” Murphy said, smirking. “But anyway, now you’re up to date with my romantic history, reciprocate.”

MacCready shot her a look of mock annoyance. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

“How did it happen?” Murphy asked. “I mean, I know you two have met before because of the tech retrieval missions I helped her with months ago, but I wasn’t aware you had the chance to grow anything substantial out of that.”

“Oh, yeah,” MacCready said, sitting up and removing his hat to scratch at his tawny hair. “We talked a bit then, got friendly. Got the sense she was maybe hung up on someone else. But when we came through Cambridge and you flew off to the airport, she’d kind of shed that and moved on. We started talking about growing up in the Capital Wasteland, the people we knew there, stuff we’d seen… then I found out she liked Grognak comics, so we really got going on that.”   
  
He smiled. “I was thinking she was pretty swell when you radioed, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell her yet about Duncan and Lucy. You got me going, though, when you said you’d booked us a ticket on the Brotherhood express. When she pulled watch, I sat out there on the station roof with her and I was kind of going on and on about home and Duncan. I think she just wound up kissing me to shut me up, but then we couldn’t stop.”

Murphy smiled and sat up again. “Glad I could help,” she said. “Good for you two.”

MacCready grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “I guess I should say thank you.”

“No problem,” Murphy replied. “And thank you, too.”

“For what?”

“A bunch of things,” Murphy said, ticking them off on her fingers. “Having my back all the time, saving me from that mirelurk hunter that almost melted off my face, keeping Shaun occupied, making Haylen happy… oh, and letting yourself be happy.”

“Yeah,” MacCready said, his hand on the back of his neck. “I did some thinking about what you said that night in the Common. About how making myself miserable about Lucy wasn’t helping me repay my debt to her.”

“And?”

“And I think Lucy would have wanted me to repay her by taking care of our son and moving on with my life,” he said with a sigh. “I’m working on both of those.”

Murphy grabbed him and pulled him into a hug. He stiffened in surprise, then softened and put his arms around her too. Overhead, the stars twinkled gently, and a violin rendition of “Clair de Lune” floated through the air from the Radio Freedom speakers.

“You know what you have to do now,” MacCready said when they finally broke the embrace.

“What’s that?”

“You have to let yourself be happy,” he said with a smile.

Murphy snorted. “Easier said than done.”


	28. Into the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elder Maxson gets kidnapped.

MacCready took his leave of Murphy and went back down to the fire pits, but Murphy stayed on the battlements a while longer, watching the festivities below. One of the Minutemen had pulled out a handmade set of drums and was happily tapping along to the Radio Freedom music coming through the speakers, adding rhythms that enlivened some of the slower tunes and accentuated the more upbeat ones.

Shaun, transfixed by the drumming, protested heavily when Preston Garvey came and took his arm to lead him away to bed. Preston wouldn’t relent, and the synth child marched into the barracks with a pout on his face.

Arthur Maxson and his Knights disappeared inside the Castle after sharing a drink with Rylee and Sturges, who was clearly admiring their power armor. Knight Rhys left soon after, likely trying to get away from MacCready and Scribe Haylen, who were cuddling and toasting bits of meat over a nearby fire.

Murphy realized after a while that she wasn’t sure where she was going to sleep that night. She had also neglected to grab a change of clothes, and the old vault suit she had worn for the memorial service was beginning to itch around the collar and behind her knees.

With a sigh, she stood and headed down the stairs, ducking into the stone corridor that led to the General’s quarters. As expected, the doors to the room were shut, and one of the two Knights was standing guard.

“General,” he said as she approached. “The Elder has retired for the night.”

“I know,” Murphy said. “I just need to grab some things so I can do the same.”

The Knight stood aside, and Murphy knocked. She could hear faint music coming from inside.

“Enter,” said Maxson, his voice muffled by the door.

Murphy cracked the door open and poked her head in. The room was warm with candlelight, and the tail end of “Orange Colored Sky” was playing from the radio next to the bed.

Maxson was sitting alone at the table, scribbling notes on a pad of paper. He had discarded his battlecoat, which was hung over a chair next to him, and had unzipped the top of his black Brotherhood officer’s flight suit to reveal a black tank top and holotags hanging over his broad chest. Murphy was surprised to see the tattoo of a rampant lion on his left shoulder, its mouth open in an inky black roar.

He stood when he saw her, tying off his flight suit around his waist. “Paladin Murphy,” he said in surprise. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Murphy stepped into the room and shut the door behind her. “Planning on staying up all night writing down all of the fort’s weaknesses?” she asked.

“On the contrary,” Maxson replied. “It’s a strong position to hold. I can understand why the British were reluctant to abandon it 500 years ago.”

Murphy smiled. “Had Proctor Quinlan dig up what he could find on this place, did you?”

He shrugged and nodded. “Like I said earlier, Paladin, it pays to be prepared.”

The song on the radio ended and the voice of Travis Miles came over the airwaves.

 _“That’s a great one, isn’t it? ‘Orange Colored Sky,’ by Nat King Cole,”_ the DJ said. _“Next up, we have a special treat for you, brought to you by the one and only vault dweller, little Miss Murphy. We all know her, we all love her, and we all appreciate when she visits the studio and drops off a new holotape she found on one of her adventures in the Commonwealth. For the first time in who knows how long, folks, ‘Moon River.’ Let’s give it a listen.”_

Soft guitar plucking filled the room. Maxson looked at her, eyebrows raised.

“I just came to grab some stuff,” Murphy muttered. She shuffled over to the dresser by the bed and began digging through it, extracting a pair of jeans, underwear and socks, a red t-shirt that read “You’ve got… Vim!” across the front and her traveling pack.

Maxson watched her as she shoved the clothes into the pack. “My apologies for putting you out of your bed,” he said.

“It’s fine,” Murphy said, glancing over her shoulder at him. “I’m surprised your officers let you stay. They seem a little lost without you.”

His expression hardened slightly. “They’re protective,” he said. “They needn’t be.”

Murphy nodded. “I suppose they mean well. If anything happens to you, well…”

She trailed off and the two were silent again. The voice of some long-dead starlet floated through the air between them.

 

_“Two drifters, off to see the world,_

_There’s such a lot of world to see_

_We’re after the same rainbow’s end…”_

 

“Thank you, again, for the opportunities you presented today,” Maxson said. “If it’s possible for the Brotherhood to collaborate rather than become adversarial, it’s better for everyone involved.”

Murphy turned, shouldering her pack with a smile. “You didn’t give me much of a choice, Elder,” she said. “But I’m happy to help. The world’s seen enough destruction.”

He nodded. “Agreed,” he said solemnly. “Now, if you’re retiring for the night, don’t let me keep you.”

Murphy took off her tricorn hat and tossed it on top of the dresser. “I’m really not that tired yet,” she admitted. “I was actually thinking of taking a boat into the city. Maybe picking up that beryllium agitator you were asking for.”

Maxson frowned. “By yourself?” he asked.

“Don’t want to interrupt the party,” Murphy replied with a shrug. “And it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve stolen away in the middle of the night to complete a mission all on my lonesome. I don’t sleep well.”

Maxson ran his hand along the side of his head, his fingers tangling the sleek, brown hair of his undercut. “I asked you to report to me when you were ready to retrieve the agitator because I planned to send personnel along,” he grumbled. “Let me send one of my Knights with you.”

Murphy cocked her head to the side. “No thanks,” she said dismissively. “Besides, I thought I was a potential danger to your men.”

Maxson crossed his muscular arms and leaned back against the table. “Then I’ll accompany you.”

Murphy stared at him. “What?”

He nodded. “You heard me, Paladin. I can’t let you go wandering about mutant-infested areas by yourself in good conscience. If you insist on retrieving the beryllium agitator tonight, I’ll accompany you.”

“And, what, you’ll just order your Knights to stay here?” Murphy asked in disbelief. “Those two didn’t give me the impression they would just stand down if you ran off into the dark with the General of the Minutemen.”

“Hardly,” Maxson said. He crossed the room to the heavy stage curtain Murphy and Preston had bought from Irma at the Memory Den and pushed it aside, revealing the entrance to the Castle tunnels.

“Ah,” Murphy said. “You noticed that.”

Maxson shot her an unimpressed look. “Indeed. I take it this leads to a secret entrance.”

“Not exactly,” Murphy said. “This is a terrible idea.”

“I agree,” Maxson said, zipping up his black flight suit. “You could do this any other time, Paladin.”

Murphy crossed her arms. “The sooner I get the agitator, the sooner I can leave you alone until your triumphant return to the Capital Wasteland,” she said. “That building it’s in is basically empty. I don’t need help.”

“Then this shouldn’t take too long,” Maxson said, patting the duffel bags the Knights had left on the table until he found the one he was looking for. He unzipped it and eased the fabric down to reveal a Gatling laser.

“Jesus,” Murphy breathed, moving in closer to the table. “What did you bring that for? Planning on massacring everyone in this fort?”

Maxson hefted the weapon and popped a fusion core into the chamber. “Of course not,” he said. “Our intel said you fought off a mirelurk queen in order to reclaim this stronghold, and in order to secure the island for the summit. I packed this in case of another attack.”

“Sure you did,” Murphy said, putting a hand out to touch the cold metal mount. The frame was painted a dull red, and silver lettering was etched into it.

“Final Judgment,” she read. “You name your weapons?”

“You don’t?”

“Just my favorites,” Murphy said, smiling hesitantly. “I have no idea how you plan to sneak this out.”

Maxson put down the gun and pulled his battlecoat on again, pocketing a few fusion cores and stimpaks from the duffel bag. “Meet me at the end of the tunnel in fifteen minutes,” he said, moving to blow out candles around the room.

 

* * *

 

After changing into the Vim t-shirt and jeans, Murphy headed over to the armory and waited for Maxson by the tunnels. The Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel emerged with his Gatling laser on his back, rubbing his knee.

“Ran into a shelf in the dark,” he grunted when he saw her raised eyebrows.

“Last chance to turn back,” she whispered. “Though if you’re carrying that the whole way, I might just outpace you and catch you on the return journey.”

Maxson scowled at her. “Lead the way.”

Murphy led him along the hallway toward the southwest bastion, where stars shone through a hole in the rubble of the collapsed wall. They climbed out and hugged the outside wall, their footsteps covered by the music coming through the Castle’s speakers. When the guard on duty along the battlements passed by and turned to the northeast, Murphy and Maxson slunk through the tall grass to the boats. Murphy picked one and jumped in, picking up a pair of nearby paddles. Maxson shoved the boat off and followed suit, his boots splashing in the shallow water.

The two paddled southwest toward Spectacle Island until Murphy deemed it safe to turn the motor on. She turned the prow north, and the boat shot over the waves toward the airport and the lights of the Prydwen. She turned to Maxson with a grin.

“What?” he asked over the sound of the whitecaps.

“I think I technically just kidnapped you,” she replied. “What’s the penalty in the Brotherhood for kidnapping the Elder?”

“Certain death,” Maxson said, a wry smile growing on his face.


	29. Executive Status

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a bunch of robots wake up on the wrong side of the bed.

Murphy and Elder Maxson stowed the boat in the shadow of a beached trawler alongside Christopher Columbus Park and climbed ashore, startling a herd of radstags from their grazing. The mutated deer bounded away into the city ruins, leaving the two of them alone in the darkness of the waterfront with the wind blowing through the drying vines of the trellises.

Maxson unshouldered his Gatling laser and took in a deep breath in the silence next to Murphy. He toed a nearby pile of fallen leaves with his boot, unearthing an empty soda bottle and the bones of some small animal.

Murphy watched him curiously. The young Elder’s face didn’t hold any fear- not that she had expected any, if half the stories about his success in the field were true. Instead, his features held eagerness and traces of relief.

“You don’t get out of that ship of yours much, do you?” she guessed.

He turned to her, immediately returning to his usual, neutral scowl. “Being the Elder tends to keep one busy, Paladin,” he growled, but it was too late. Murphy had already seen his enthusiasm.

“It’s okay, Elder,” she said, unholstering her two plasma pistols and starting up the park’s waterfront stairs. “Wanting to get out every once in a while, doesn’t mean you’re a bad leader.”

Maxson was silent, so Murphy turned and gave him a big grin. “Just look at me.”

He looked unimpressed. The two continued in silence, cutting down State Street past the decrepit Custom House Tower and the looming ruins of the Commonwealth Bank, then turning north under the crumbled overpass that used to be Congress, skirting both Faneuil Hall and Goodneighbor. They paused momentarily outside of the Old Corner Bookstore at the sound of raiders joking around outside Haymarket Mall, and moved on only when their laughter had faded into the night.

Seeing nothing moving in the square, Murphy crossed the dimly-lit pavement in front of Mass Fusion and held one of its glass doors open. “After you,” she said, gesturing inside.

Maxson strode in confidently, and immediately raised his hackles at the sight of a protectron patrolling the fluorescent-lit main floor.

“Protect AND serve,” the robot chirped happily as Maxson leveled his Gatling laser at it. Murphy put a hand on top of the weapon and pushed its barrel down.

“It won’t hurt us,” she said.

“How can you be sure?” Maxson asked. Murphy unshouldered her pack, digging around in it until she extracted a platinum ID card.

“I happen to hold executive status around here,” she said. “Or whoever’s desk I went through did. Besides, I’m still in the computer system from when I was an intern with their firm on retainer. A bit of creative programming and security access changes, and these guys were more than happy to help me clear out the Gunners who had moved in.”

Maxson relaxed a bit, shooting the robot a look of distrust all the same. “Then you must know where the agitator is,” he said.

“Nope,” Murphy said, shaking her head. “But I know who would’ve. Come on.”

They stepped into the central elevator, and Murphy swiped her ID through the card reader. The machine lurched to life, then slowly began its creaking ascent.

Murphy and Maxson stared forward in silence, watching the face of the Art Deco goddess statue until she disappeared under a reinforced glass floor. The elevator entered a tunnel and threw them into darkness, before re-emerging in the executive suite under the stars. The wind was much stronger up here, banging pieces of the fallen wall panels into each other and scattering pieces of plastic and paper around the empty offices.

Murphy left the elevator and walked out through the ruined doors to the roof overlook.

“Paladin,” Maxson grumbled behind her, but she waved him off, taking in the night sky, the scattered lights over the Commonwealth and the irradiated crater that used to be CIT.

Maxson moved up beside her and followed her gaze. “How did it feel?” he asked softly.

She didn’t respond immediately, but the question felt like she had been pushed from the skyscraper, twisting in the cold air and falling, screaming, into the hole she had torn in the world. The wind caught up her hair, loosening her braid and whipping white strands around in its vicious dance. She shivered and hugged her arms close to her body.

“How can you ask me that?” she said, turning to confront him with angry tears in her eyes. “I know this is what you wanted, what everyone wanted, but I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to wake up and try to fix everyone’s problems. I didn’t want to be the mother of… I felt…”

Murphy sank onto a nearby crate and put her head in her hands. “I felt like the angel of death,” she whispered helplessly.

The wind howled around her. Murphy wiped tears away from her eyes and stared at the floor. To her surprise, she felt a warm weight on her shoulders, and she looked up to see Maxson settling his battlecoat around her.

She tried to push it away, but Maxson knelt on one knee in front of her and held the edges together, the expression on his face one of determination. “Paladin,” he said. “It’s not your fault.”

“Yes, it fucking is,” Murphy snapped. “Don’t you dare try to tell me it isn’t. You and your goddamn flying ship wouldn’t even be here if my son hadn’t served as the blueprint for synths and released the Institute on the surface world.”

Maxson furrowed his brow and met her eyes sternly. “Do you honestly think we only flew here to root out synths?” he asked. “Our first recon squad determined the area was rich in pre-war tech, our second determined the populace was beset with many of the same dangers we faced and defeated in the Capital Wasteland, and our third communicated the immediate danger that was the Institute. Based on all three reasons, it made sense that we should come, and it makes sense to stay.”

He stood up and took a seat on a crate across from her. “The Brotherhood still has work to do here, and I intend to see it through. You have super mutant numbers that rival the ones the Capital Wasteland used to have before the destruction of Vault 87, untold numbers of buildings infested with ferals, raiders and a host of other threats.”

Murphy wiped her tears away. “But you’re leaving,” she retorted. “Not exactly what I’d call ‘seeing it through.’”

“I have responsibilities as a leader,” Maxson said roughly. “It was expected I return to the Citadel someday. Rest assured, I will leave the airport and its regiment in capable hands.”

“You expected to return, or _were_ expected to return?” Murphy asked. “I thought you were the end-all, be-all of the Brotherhood leadership.”

Maxson smiled. “Hardly,” he replied. “I answer to the Council of Elders and the leadership of Lost Springs, though I retain significant autonomy as leader of the East Coast Chapter.”

“Well, let’s hope they don’t all show up in a vertibird and start trying to run things too,” Murphy grumbled. She stood and handed Maxson's battlecoat back. “Here.”

Maxson took it back, but stopped her with a hand on her shoulder when she turned to leave. “Paladin,” he said quietly. “I meant it. It’s not your fault.”

He gestured at the city laid out under them. “You did what any sane person would do. The Commonwealth is lucky to have you, and the Brotherhood is honored to have you.”

She turned back and looked at the Elder as he put on his coat. The wind was blowing through his dark hair, and his muscled physique was apparent despite the slimming effect the black officer’s flight suit had on his body. The deep scar across his right cheek and the smaller ones over his left eye aged him, along with the full beard he kept meticulously trimmed, but his eyes betrayed him for what he was: A profoundly young man.

 _He’s a child,_ she thought.

 _Maybe so,_ Nate’s voice echoed inside her head. _But he is what he has to be._

A blink and Nate was there, studying Maxson curiously at her side. He squinted at the Brotherhood leader and twisted his mouth in thought.

 _Like you,_ he said, turning to Murphy with a smile.

Murphy shook her head, and Maxson caught the movement and mistook it for a response to him.

“You disagree?” he asked, picking up his Gatling laser.

“No, I…” Murphy looked to Nate but he was gone again. “I was just… never mind.”

She turned back toward the executive suite and stepped inside, out of the wind. “This was the CEO’s office. Karl Oslow. Flashy guy, threw great parties. They almost made up for his poor environmental track record and shady business practices.”

Murphy led the way up the stairs to the second level of the suite and picked a meandering path across the rickety floor, stepping around loose panels and rusted-out holes. An old, wooden desk sat in the middle of a particularly shaky portion of flooring, and she carefully eased her way over to it. Slowly, she opened the drawers and rifled through the contents, coming away with a holotape marked “Password: In Case of Emergency” and another platinum ID card, both of which she tossed to Maxson.

“Must have been his secretary’s desk,” she said, then pointed at a nearby doorway. “His office and laboratory were through there.”

She tiptoed over to stable ground and entered the lab, but paused as soon as she caught sight of a small fusion reactor in the center of the room. She held out her Pip-Boy and heard the familiar clicking sound of its built-in Geiger counter. Radiation.

“Don’t get too close to that,” she said, pointing at the bulky, metal column. The two inched their way around, hugging the wall with dirty windows until they reached Oslow’s computer station. Maxson popped the holotape into the terminal, while Murphy examined the cluttered data banks and nearby work table.

Maxson squinted at the dusty monitor. “This memo says it’s on sub-level one, as of July 30, 2077,” he said. “Inside the primary reactor. The key cards should help us get there.”

“Mmm,” Murphy replied absentmindedly. She shoved a stack of folders aside and uncovered another holotape, this one labeled “Recording 03443,” which she popped into her Pip-Boy.

 _“Calm down, Noel,”_ said a man’s voice. Murphy recognized it as Oslow’s. _“You knew that this was coming. I don't understand why you're acting this way.”_

 _“Don't tell me to ‘calm down,’ Karl!”_ another man responded angrily. _“When we started designing the beryllium agitator, you said it would be for the benefit of mankind. Instead, I find out that you've been planning on turning it over to the military all along. You lied to me!”_

Maxson raised his eyebrows, looking from Murphy’s Pip-Boy to her with a questioning expression.

 _“Don't give me that high-and-mighty attitude,”_ Oslow went on. _“Have you picked up a newspaper lately? There's a war going on out there, Doctor… and if our side's going to win, it needs all the help it can get.”_

 _“I can't believe what I'm hearing,”_ Noel said, sounding exasperated. _“Since when did science start taking sides? What did they promise you, Karl? Money? Political favors? A goddamned medal?”_

 _“That's enough!”_ Oslow snapped. _“Like it or not, when the testing cycle is completed, I'm crating up the agitator and sending it off to Washington. Now, you have two choices. Either you can get back to work or you can get the hell out of my building.”_

The tape clicked off. Murphy popped it out again and pocketed it. “Well, I guess Oslow sold out,” she said. “Too bad he won’t be around when we haul it off to D.C., 200 years too late. Come on, let’s get to the basement.”

 

* * *

 

Murphy and Maxson stepped out of the elevator into the reactor level, which was eerily silent. Emergency lights flickered around the debris and collapsed ceilings, and a dusty window revealed the reactor room one floor below them. Hallways led left and right, and Maxson peered down the one on the right, his laser at the ready.

“Stairs,” he confirmed.

Murphy went left instead, and found a smaller room with protectron pods, one of which was occupied. A terminal sat next to it.

She cast a sideways glance at her companion. “Are you any good at hacking?”

Maxson shook his head, so Murphy sat down and cracked her knuckles before tapping at the keyboard. The computer squawked a few times in error before unlocking with a soft chime, green text spilling across its screen. She navigated to “Protectron Control” and changed the machine’s security protocols.

“Sorry, Mass Fusion,” she said, standing up with a stretch. “Reset your security systems every once in a while.”

The protectron sprang to life and stepped out of its pod. “Protect AND serve,” it chirped, and began its patrols without a second look at either human in its path.

The two headed for the stairs, which deposited them on a dais overlooking the reactor observation deck. Murphy walked around to examine the lobby desk above the control room area, while Maxson tapped the nose of his laser against a pair of locked, metal security doors with steps leading up to each.

Murphy frowned at the terminal on the desk. “I can’t hack this one,” she said. “Someone smarter than the average yao guai must have worked here.”

Maxson gestured at the security doors. “Whatever’s behind these isn’t very large,” he said. “Small spaces. There’s not a lot of echo.”

“Small doesn’t necessarily mean easy to kill,” Murphy muttered. She peeked inside the locker rooms behind the lobby desk to find scattered uniforms, hazmat suits and a dormant security turret, which she dispatched with a plasma blast before it could wake up. She pocketed a stimpak and a bag of Radaway from the bathroom’s first aid kit.

She and Maxson made their way down the stairs to the control room, which overlooked a huge, glass wall. Behind the glass sat Mass Fusion’s nuclear reactor, a humming, metal orb surrounded by metal scaffolding. A blue column of energy poured from the reactor, throwing an otherworldly light over the room and its first living occupants in centuries.

Maxson insisted on doing a sweep of the entire room before they went anywhere near the reactor entrance, and turned up two more terminals. Murphy successfully hacked into one and recruited another protectron, but the other was beyond her. The doors on either side of the control room it was connected to were large, and she wasn’t at all excited to see what was going to come out if they tripped the security system.

When Maxson was satisfied with their reconnaissance, Murphy grabbed a hazmat suit from the locker room and pulled it on.

“One small step for man,” she joked as she pulled the helmet on, wiping dust from the glass dome so she could see where she was going. “One giant leap for mankind.”

Maxson smiled, but adjusted his grip on the Gatling laser. “Weapons out, Paladin,” he advised. “Be prepared for anything. I’ll be out here to cover your exit.”

Murphy held up her plasma pistols and twirled one expertly in her gloved hand. “Keep an eye on those doors,” she said. “Don’t be afraid to dive for cover if it’s a trained deathclaw.”

Maxson gave her a grim look. “You jest, but we’ve encountered those in combat before.”

Murphy opened her mouth, then closed it again. “Tell me after,” she said, shutting the airlock door behind her. Maxson took up a position in the center of the lowest floor, next to a computer bank that could be used as cover. He rested the barrel of his Gatling laser on the upper level, training it at the locked doors higher up.

With a thumbs up through the glass, Murphy pressed the button to initiate the airlock procedure.

“Now cycling airlock,” an automated woman’s voice said over the speaker system. “Please wait. Initiating decontamination sequence.”

A row of pressurized water jets sputtered and hissed, drenching Murphy’s hazmat suit. “Decontamination complete,” the voice announced. “You may proceed.”

The door into the reactor slid open, and Murphy stepped onto the scaffolding. Her Pip-Boy was crackling like a movie theater popcorn machine, telling her that this room meant certain death if she punctured her suit, but she cautiously made her way up the stairs to the cradle of energy that held the beryllium agitator. There she found a button with a faded label that read “Interlock Release,” which she pressed.

The reactor’s hum faded somewhat, and the orb slowly rotated forward to reveal a square handle. Murphy grasped it firmly and turned, until the portable, metal column slid from its home and came away in her hand.

Immediately, the room’s eerie blue light changed to an angry red. “Security alert in the reaction chamber,” the automated speaker system said. “Emergency lockdown initiated.”

Murphy turned and ran, dodging laser blasts from a pair of security turrets high above her that had awakened at the announcement. One tore a hole in her suit’s shoulder just as she ducked inside the decontamination chamber, and the burning creep of radiation began to seep in immediately. Feverishly, she slammed her hand down on the airlock button.

“Now cycling airlock,” the woman’s voice said again as the doors to the reactor locked behind her. “Please wait.”

Murphy gasped in relief as the water jets hit her and soaked in through the hole in the suit. She turned to see the door to the stairs slamming shut and Maxson leveling a volley of laser blasts at a hulking sentry robot, which had wheeled out of one of the larger security doors and met the Elder with machine gun fire.

“Alert. Hostile detected,” the robot said in its mechanical voice as its twin miniguns rotated and sprayed the computer bank Maxson peered out from with bullets. Murphy flipped off the safety on her pistols.

“Decontamination complete,” the speaker system said, unlocking the door into the control room. Murphy ripped off her helmet and threw it open.

“Get in here!” she yelled at Maxson.

Maxson didn’t give any response. He gritted his teeth and adjusted his aim as the sentry bot rolled unsteadily down the stairs in pursuit of the security threat.

 _Fuck,_ she thought. _You’ve done this before. How did you do this before?_

The answer, of course, was power armor, but that was no help to her right now. Instead, Murphy threw the airlock door open and fired repeatedly at the sentry bot’s helmet, coating its sensors in hot plasma. As she expected, the robot paused, adjusted its trajectory and shot down the stairs toward the decontamination chamber.

“Lethal force authorized for all units,” it said. Murphy slammed the door shut and waved at it through the airlock glass, then ducked when it sprayed her with minigun fire. The glass cracked into a circular web under each bullet but did not shatter.

The sentry bot’s distraction gave Maxson the opening he needed to shove his laser up a level, roll under the railing and run for the office under the stairs. Under cover of the upper floor, he targeted the sentry bot again, laser blasts tearing through the hydraulic tubing for one of its mecanum-wheeled legs.

The robot spun around in response, but its movement was hindered by the non-functional leg and it rotated slowly in its attempt to head back to the stairs. When it stopped to attempt the ascent, its wheels could only spin. The extra effort initiated the machine’s cooldown period, and its back panels opened to expose the vulnerable fusion cores that powered it.

Murphy and Maxson fired at the glowing embers on its back, and the resulting blast blew the cracked glass of the airlock to pieces. Murphy curled into a ball behind the door, protecting the beryllium agitator as the shards rained down around the room, superheated flames from the explosion licking at the window’s jagged edges.

When it had settled, Murphy carefully stood and left the airlock, tucking the agitator behind the door. Her hands were covered in tiny cuts, and pieces of glass fell from her hair as she moved. Her hazmat suit was in shreds. Maxson stepped from the cover of the stairs and joined her by the flaming pile of metal. He picked a large piece of glass from her braid and tossed it aside before hoisting his Gatling laser up again.

“We’re not done,” he said.

Murphy nodded and cocked her pistols again. The two of them trained their weapons on the closed blast doors at the top of the stairs.

The second protectron Murphy had awakened earlier tottered out of the office Maxson had briefly used for shelter.

“Please take cover until the danger has been eliminated,” it warbled as the doors Murphy and Maxson were targeting swung open.

“Some help you were,” Murphy muttered.

Through the sliding doors came the faint sound of metal tapping on metal, and the fiery eyes of two assaultrons emerged from the hallway above. The dark, humanoid robots sprinted down the stairs through the laser and plasma blasts, their three-pointed pincers whirring in anticipation.

The first robot aimed a two-armed jab at Murphy, who dodged the attack by a hair. The protectron was not so lucky, and one of the assaultron’s arms went straight through its glass dome and into its main circuitry. It sputtered and died, but gave Murphy enough time to kick her attacker’s legs out and send the two robots tumbling over the railing to the floor below.

The second assaultron absorbed Maxson’s fire and launched itself straight at him, knocking the Gatling laser out of his hands and sending him flying into a nearby wall. He pulled a knife from his boot as it rushed him again, but the robot sidestepped his jab and pinned him to the wall. Its eye began to glow a violent red as it stared down the struggling Elder in its iron claws.

“HEY!” Murphy yelled, firing several plasma blasts into its back. The robot did not move, so she took the next best route and tackled it to the ground.

The machine squirmed underneath her, its electric eye struggling to lock onto a target. It threw Murphy off, sliding her into the wall while Maxson dove for his laser. One of Murphy’s plasma pistols skittered across the floor as the robot regained its footing. She clutched the other and aimed for the assaultron’s legs, but suddenly her vision was obscured by an image of Nate kneeling over her.

Disoriented, she fired wildly over his shoulder instead, and the blast connected with the assaultron’s charged laser. The plasma ignited the stored energy and the robot’s head exploded, blowing metal shrapnel across the room. Pain dug into her right hip and ribs, and she screamed as her husband dissipated in the electric ball of fire.

The flames silhouetted Maxson and his Gatling laser laying waste to the tangle of robots on the lower level. Murphy opened her mouth to suck in a breath, but the shrapnel in her ribs burned as hot as the air around her. She closed her eyes in pain and the world spun and she was falling, falling, falling into the crater she had created.


	30. Alpha and Omega

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Murphy mixes up some things, literally and figuratively.

Murphy awoke in a room she didn’t recognize. She squinted up at two white lights on the ceiling, slowly becoming aware of the starched sheets over her naked body, the firm mattress beneath her and a steady burning sensation all along her right side. 

She tried to sit up, but the burn turned to knives, forcing her back down. The metal walls, the hum of the hydrogen jet engines and the orange flag next to the door with the Brotherhood insignia stamped on it gave away her location. She was back aboard the Prydwen. 

Murphy closed her eyes and tried to remember how she got there. She remembered the reactor chamber, the assaultrons and their sharp hands, Maxson’s panicked expression as he stared death in the face and the feeling of the cold metal writhing beneath her, seeking to burn a hole through something. She remembered Nate and the halo of destruction that consumed him and sank its teeth into her. 

From there, it was hazy. The sensation of being lifted, fire on one side of her and reassuring warmth on the other. Hair sticking to her face, fluttering images of a silver goddess growing above her, then vanishing into the dark. Smoke and wings. The sun rising over the ocean. 

The door across the room swung open and Knight-Captain Cade strode in confidently, tapping a syringe against his medical clipboard. 

“X-rays look promising,” he was muttering to himself. He set his clipboard down on the foot of the bed and pushed some liquid out through the needle before rolling the sheet back along Murphy’s right hip. 

“Should I be asleep for this?” Murphy asked weakly. Cade turned his head in surprise and smiled. 

“Well, it’s not necessary, but it’s certainly preferable,” he said. “This is for the pain. You’ve got quite a bit of tissue regrowth to stimulate before you’ll be able to do much else, at any rate.” 

Murphy relaxed as best she could, and Cade stuck her with the syringe. She gritted her teeth as the medicine entered her bloodstream, blistering alongside the burn until the two sensations intertwined and left her muscles and limbs heavy, sinking. Her eyelids followed suit, and she slept again.

 

* * *

 

The next time she awoke, the room was dark. She could make out a man sitting next to the bed, sleeping soundly in a chair much too small for his frame. 

She reached out a hand and tried to touch the figure, but her fingers came away empty. 

“Nate,” she whispered. 

Nate didn’t move. His chest rose and fell in the fuzzy blackness of the room, smooth and broad under a light tank top. 

Murphy’s eyes welled up. “Nate, I killed you,” she said, her voice wavering in the silence. “I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry.” 

She tried to wipe the tears away, but her arm was heavy. So heavy. 

“Nate,” she whispered. “I’m stuck, Nate. I don’t know what to do. I… I killed him, Nate. I killed our baby boy.” 

The sleeping Nate shifted in his chair, and Murphy clenched her hands into weak fists. 

“I know you’re just in my head, but I hope some part of you is really here,” she said, her words echoing around the metal room. “Tell me there’s some way I can keep going, for all these people. Or tell me… tell me it’s okay if I give up.” 

Silence. Murphy turned her head toward the ceiling. 

“You wouldn’t tell me to give up,” she breathed. “But fuck, Nate, this is so hard to do without you.” 

She closed her eyes. 

_ Strawberry.  _

The voice filled her ears, the room, the world, coming from nowhere in particular. It dove into her chest and shivered across her stomach, her legs, her forehead.  _ Strawberry. Strawberry. Strawberry.  _

The word reverberated around the room a few more times, and the rhythm calmed Murphy’s racing mind. The figure in the chair stirred, and reached a hand out to touch her gently. She swore she could feel it, but she knew that couldn’t be the case. 

As she drifted back to sleep, she wondered briefly why Nate had a tattoo on his shoulder. 

 

* * *

 

The lights on the ceiling woke her, and the slow ascent from her dreams was akin to her confused emergence from the ice in Vault 111. The veil of sleep fell away slowly, and Cade was looking down at her with concern in his face. 

“Open,” he ordered, gesturing at her mouth with a thermometer. Murphy obliged and tucked the cold instrument under her tongue, while Cade marked a few things down on his patient chart and prodded her forehead. When he was satisfied, he withdrew the thermometer and held it up to the light. 

“99.7,” he read aloud. “Down significantly. Thank god for paracetamol.” 

Cade patted her on the arm. “You had a rough night, but your body is responding to the treatment well. Whatever bacteria was growing on that assaultron really gave us a run for our money.” 

“Bacteria?” Murphy asked blearily. 

“From the shrapnel,” Cade explained, sitting on the edge of the bed. “We operated to remove the pieces immediately, but fever took hold of you fast. Thanks to some of our stocked chems and a bit of Senior Scribe Neriah’s secret stash of Chinese ginger, you pulled through.” 

Murphy swallowed and experimentally patted her bandaged side. It was still tender, but nothing like the burning pain from earlier. 

“A few more stimpaks and you’ll be right as rain,” Cade said with a smile. “Just take it easy, okay? I don’t want to see you on my operating table again for at least another year.” 

“No promises,” Murphy replied, raising herself into a sitting position. There was a jab of pain in her ribs and hip, and she winced. Cade eased the pillows up behind her to support her back. 

“One of the shrapnel pieces was embedded in your pelvis,” he explained. “The damage to your ribs was superficial at most, while your pelvis bore the brunt of the damage. We were concerned the infection would spread to the bone, but your body temperature suggests the site is healing.” 

“Outstanding,” Murphy said, gritting her teeth as she shifted her weight. “Tell me, doc, will I still be able to play the violin after all this?” 

Cade chuckled. “Undoubtedly.” 

Murphy leaned back with a sigh. “How’s Maxson?” she asked. 

“The Elder suffered a few lacerations and some impressive contusions, but his battlecoat absorbed most of the damage,” Cade replied. “He’s already back to his duties, though he insisted on taking a shift last night to monitor your condition.” 

“He was here?” Murphy wracked her brains, but the details of the night were clouded in her mind. She remembered waking up, finding Nate… was it Nate? 

“I’m confident he’ll want to speak to you, now that you’re awake,” Cade replied with a nod. “I’ll inform him once I’ve finished my examination.” 

He went through the motions with her, checking her joints, her eyesight, the patterns of bruising along her right side, her knee reflexes and her temperature again before leaving her with a few pills to swallow and a can of purified water. “I’ll have the mess hall attendant send something down,” he called on his way out. 

Murphy sank back into the pillows and cast her eyes around the room again. A desk to her right held a tray of medical instruments and bandages and a slowly-rotating fan. An orange Brotherhood flight suit hung from a row of lockers on her left, perpendicular to a tool cabinet carrying a blue, plastic tub of spare nuts and bolts and two ammo containers. She squinted at a filing cabinet across the room, trying to make out the drawer labels, when she was interrupted by Elder Maxson’s entrance through the steel door. 

“Paladin,” he said amiably. “I’m pleased to see you’re recovering.” 

He was still wearing his black officer’s flight suit, but had abandoned his battlecoat in favor of a leather bomber jacket. There were a few new scrapes and scratches on his face, but he didn’t look too banged up. 

“Likewise,” Murphy said, offering him a half-hearted smile. The movement hurt her face, and she put a hand up to feel the tiny scratch marks and scarring from the decontamination room window glass. “Cade said I nearly bit the dust.” 

Maxson crossed the room to the chair by the desk and took a seat in it. “You sustained significant damage,” he said with a nod. “Had we not flown you back to our base, you likely would not have survived.” 

“Right,” Murphy said. “Thank you.” 

Maxson’s mouth twitched into a smile. “You’re the one who’s owed thanks,” he said quietly. “If not for you, I’d be dead.” 

“Didn’t fancy a kiss from an assaultron?” Murphy joked. “Shame, I know at least one who would be disappointed.” 

Maxson looked at her in confusion. “You know an assaultron?” 

“Mmm-hmm,” Murphy nodded. “Though as far as she’s concerned, she’s all woman.” 

She gingerly grabbed a pillow from behind her and fluffed it up a bit. “What happened after I passed out? How did we get back here?” 

“I brought you and the beryllium agitator to the roof,” Maxson explained. “I set off a signal grenade and a vertibird patrol responded and brought us here.” 

“You carried me?” Murphy asked, surprised. She replaced the pillow, then straightened up in realization. “What about your laser? The Final Judgment, or whatever it’s called?” 

Maxson waved his hand dismissively. “It’s just a gun.” 

Murphy chuckled. He joined her, and the two of them laughed until Murphy had to stop because her side hurt too much. 

“So, what did you tell your Knights?” she asked. “The ones at the Castle? God, what did you tell the Minutemen?” 

“Our radio operators relayed a message to the Castle as soon as we were in transit,” Maxson said. “The Knights have been ordered to retrieve your boat and return it, then remain at the Castle until further notice.” 

Murphy looked down at her scratched-up hands. “How did everyone take it?” 

“My officers are less than pleased,” he admitted. “Though yours seemed unsurprised. Major Shaw said something about ‘lack of discipline’ and ‘spontaneous bullshit,’ if I recall correctly.” 

Murphy giggled sheepishly.  _ Preston’s going to kill me,  _ she thought. 

“I probably should have warned you that I’m a magnet for trouble,” she said. 

“I think a more apt description would be that trouble is a magnet for you,” Maxson replied. “Regardless, we accomplished what we set out to do, bar a few difficulties along the way.” 

“That we did.” 

They sat in silence for a bit. Murphy pulled the sheets up around her, suddenly a little self-conscious about her state of undress. 

“Cade told me you took the night shift with me,” she said finally. 

Maxson nodded. “He thought it beneficial for someone to sit with you and monitor your fever. You were… restless, at times.” 

“Restless?” Murphy frowned. “Like, talking in my sleep?” 

“Among other things.” Maxson looked away. “Forgive me, it’s not my place to say.” 

Murphy paled at the thought of what she might have let slip. “Tell me,” she insisted. 

The door to the room opened again, this time by a Scribe with a tray of Potato Crisps, mutfruit slices, some crumbly, yellow piece of bakery and a Nuka-Cola. She set it on the tool cabinet, cast a bewildered look at Murphy and Maxson and scurried out, shutting the door behind her. 

Maxson rose and walked around to the tray. He set it gently on Murphy’s lap. 

“Eat,” he suggested, and returned to his chair. 

“Tell me what I said,” Murphy said with a suspicious look at him. 

Maxson sighed. “Most of the time it was just nonsense, but when your fever reached its peak, you were… distraught. You kept saying you had done something terrible, and you didn’t belong here. We… we had to hold you down a few times to get medicine in you.” 

“Jesus,” Murphy said, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember any of it. Did I say anything… unusual?” 

He bowed his head. “You mentioned your son. And your husband.” 

“Oh,” Murphy said. She stared down at the tray and picked up a piece of mutfruit. “Nothing out of the ordinary, then.” 

“Do you think of them often, Paladin?” Maxson asked in a low voice. 

Murphy stopped with the fruit halfway to her mouth and smiled sadly. “I think at this point, you can just call me Murphy, Elder,” she replied. “But yes. Every day. Every night. Every empty minute.” 

She nibbled on the fruit experimentally. It was sour, but not altogether terrible. As she finished the piece, Maxson drew a small flask from inside his coat and set it on the desk next to him. 

Murphy eyed it curiously. “What’s that?” 

“Whiskey,” Maxson replied. “I thought you might want something a bit stronger after last night.” 

He opened the nearest desk drawer and produced two glasses, pouring a splash from the flask into each before stowing it away in his coat again. Murphy accepted one, her scratched-up fingers wrapped tenderly around the drink, but she stopped Maxson before he could drink his. 

“Hold on,” she said, and popped the cap off the Nuka-Cola. She poured a generous helping into her glass and his. “Pre-war cocktail. Bet you’ve never done this before.” 

Maxson looked at her skeptically. “I know what a Nuka-Rye is,” he said, and threw the drink back. 

“Huh,” Murphy said, swirling hers around a bit before taking a sip. “Guess some things don’t die so easily.” 

She and Maxson drank until he was out of whiskey and Murphy was out of chips to share. Maxson excused himself to go back to his duties, but before he left he retrieved her pack for her from the lockers. When Murphy opened it, she was surprised to see her two plasma pistols nestled inside along with her Pip-Boy and traveling supplies. 

“You picked up my guns but left your own?” she said, perplexed. “Well, I know the laser was a question of weight, but you didn’t have to stop and sift through robot parts to grab everything I dropped.” 

Maxson shrugged. “They weren’t mine to leave behind,” he said. 

“Thank you,” Murphy said, affectionately turning the weapons over in her hands. “You know, I never named these two.” 

“Is that an invitation?” Maxson asked with a smile. 

“It is.” 

He thought for a bit. “You remind me of another woman I once knew,” he said finally. “A long time ago. She wasn’t one for using twin weapons, but if she ever had, she would have named them Alpha and Omega.” 

“Sounds like an interesting lady,” Murphy said. “You’ll have to tell me about her sometime.” 

Maxson nodded. “Sometime.” 

And with that, he left. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is really getting away on me and turning into something much larger than I originally set out to write, so I'm going to end this bit of it and turn it into the beginning of a series. I'm so thankful for all of you who've stuck around, and big things are definitely in store. For those of you who are new, welcome to my hopeless little headcanon!
> 
> Edit: Part 2, A Rock that Bends to No Wind, is up now! Go read it! https://archiveofourown.org/works/15526035/chapters/36041004


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